Walking tall against the rain
by me.fergie
Summary: Jim Moriarty knew Mycroft Holmes would come for him eventually. Jim wasn't a stranger to pain, but a man can only take so much. But he will not cave in until he has what he wants. Or will he?
1. A gentleman will walk but never run

**Disclaimer: I don't own nothing. Everything belongs to other people: Sherlock to the BBC and the amazing Gatiss and Moffat. The Fic title is from Jay-Z's _Run this town_, the chapter title from Sting's _Englishman in New York_. I'm not making any profit, so please, don't sue me. **

I hope you like this story. None of my Sherlock stories has got a lot of reviews, but, oh well, maybe this one will. Apparently you just have to hurt a character to get people to read your story, so I'm optimistic :). Please enjoy. The story has not been beta'ed, so any mistakes are mine.

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><p><strong>Chapter One: A gentlemen will walk but never run<strong>

Jim Moriarty had always known that Mycroft Holmes would come for him one day. From the moment on he had sent the text to him, letting him know that he knew about the Boeing, he felt his time ticking. Of course, Mycroft didn't strike immediately. But Jim was prepared. He had done what needed to be done so that his empire could survive a few weeks without him. Sebastian was left in charge. Jim had told him that he felt exhausted, and would like a vacation. He would decide spontaneously when to leave, so Sebastian shouldn't be worried when Jim didn't get in touch for some time. He didn't know whether Sebastian believed him, but, as usual, he had only nodded and assured him everything would be fine, and he should enjoy his time off. Bless Sebastian.

So, Jim was not unprepared when he saw the men appearing next to him. He was walking through the City of Westminster, watching the tourists as they took pictures of Big Ben. Of course he had noticed the car following him for about ten minutes. For a second, he had contemplated whether he should try and make an escape towards Chinatown, where people knew him and would hide him. But he had decided against it. Under no circumstances should they think he was afraid of them, even if it would have been fun to disappear right under their noses. So, when he noticed the men, he remained still, pretending he was admiring Big Ben.

One of the men paused next to him, "Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Oh yes. Especially at night."

"I've never seen it at night." The man, almost 7 feet tall, murmured, "I strongly recommend that you come with me right now. We have a car waiting for you."

Jim smirked, "And what if I don't? You're going to shoot me here, right in the middle of the crowd?"

The man only chuckled, "I would, but I have instructions to capture you alive. But alive is a wide term these days."

"It is, I'm sure. Well, I guess I might as well come with you and spare you the trouble of having to explain to the tourists why you're hurting an innocent man in public." Jim gave Big Ben a last glance. 12: 32 P.M. The eleventh of January. He grinned. It had taken Mycroft ten days to get everything organized after Jim had texted him. He was getting slow. "A nice trip to the countryside can't hurt."

"I have to tell you though your hotel room won't be as comfortable as the suite in the Ritz." He opened the car door. "After you, sir." Jim sat down on the backseat, next to a man who already now looked like he meant business. Both of his captors would even make Sebastian look tiny in comparison. The first man sat down on his other side. "I apologize for the inconvenience, but you understand that we cannot let you see where we are taking you, Mr Moriarty."

"Of course." Jim, with slow motions, brought his hands up to the collar of his coat and bared his neck. "Please make sure though you don't make too much of a mess with my suit. It's a pain in the arse to get them tailored." He felt the sting of the needle on his neck and a burning sensation as the liquid in the syringe was entering his body. The effects were immediate: slowly the world before him went black. The last thing he felt were the strong hands of his captor holding him in an upright position before he blackened out.

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><p><strong>So, likey so far? I'm very open to suggestions; if there's anything you would love to see our beloved Jim go through, drop me a review or a PN. CC is always welcome.<strong>


	2. I'll never be a victim

**Here's the next chapter. Hope you like it. **

**Disclaimer: See chapter one. Additional, the title of this chapter is taken from Rihanna's song **_**Rockstar 101. **_**Enjoy.**

**Warnings: **Torture, violence and humiliation.

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><p><strong>Chapter Two: I'll never be a victim, I'd rather be a stalker<strong>

When Jim woke up, everything was dark. His head was aching. He had a strange taste in his mouth; vomit, maybe. He moaned and tried to get a grip on reality. The last thing he remembered was the hands of his captor. He tried to figure out what was going on. He was… sitting. On a… chair? Yes, definitely on a chair. He raised his head, but the darkness remained. Even after extensive blinking. Okay, so either the room was dark, or he was blindfolded, or both. He also noticed that he had trouble breathing. So, a hood more likely than a blindfold. He tried to move his legs, but to no avail. Bound, to either leg of the chair. And tightly. His feet were already numb to the point that even wiggling his toes was a great effort. His hands were bound too, just as tightly, to the back of the chair. No handcuffs though. Zip ties, by the feeling of it. He tried to move his hands and was rewarded with pain. Yes, zip ties. The position of his arms was awkward. They had bound his elbows together too, which caused his shoulders to ache. He actually had to lean forward to relieve the pressure at least a bit. Christ, it hurt. He wondered if there was anybody else with him in the room. Normally, there had to be, at least to see if he was okay. After all, nobody could know how he would react to the drug. He could choke on his own vomit here. So there had to be somebody. Either in the room, or watching him through a camera. More likely in the room though, so they could immediately react if something happened. Okay. So whoever was there must have noticed by now that he had woken up, but had apparently no intention of doing anything. Oh well. More time for Jim to figure out more details. His clothes, for instance. He was positive that this was no longer his suit; the material was much too rough. Prison clothing. Probably grey. No socks. The material was thin; he could feel the cold. It was actually very cold in here. He smirked; so, they already tried to get to him by putting him in this cold cell. Well, he had spent long hours of his childhood outside in the snow. Cold was nothing that mattered much to him. He shifted in his seat, trying to get a bit more comfortable. The pain in his shoulders was almost unbearable. He leaned a bit more forward, but it didn't change much. Gosh, this was awful. And to think this could go on for… days? Annoying.

Jim was so wrapped up in his thoughts he noticed too late somebody was approaching him; barefoot, but he should have noticed the change in temperature. Suddenly there was a loud splash, and his hood – now he was sure it was a hood- became glued to his face, making breathing much harder. Water came into his mouth and nose, making him cough. Somebody had apparently emptied a bottle of water – at least he _hoped _it was water – over his head. He could feel the liquid running over his back. It was cold. He breathed harder. He hadn't expected the water-boarding to come so soon, but it didn't matter to him. It wasn't comfortable, but he knew they wouldn't let him drown here, so…. He just had to keep calm, not panic, breathe calmly as well as he could. He had almost managed that when he felt another load of water in his face, this time coming from the front. He shied away, more out of instinct than actual shock. Immediately, a searing pain short through his left shoulder even before the soft _pop_ reached his ear. He screamed out as the pain radiated through his arm down to his fingers. Whoever was in that room with him chuckled, close to his ear. He could hear a _gulp, _then the sound of gargling before another load of water hit his face from the front. And again. And again. Jim was much too preoccupied with the pain in his shoulder to even feel bad about this person spitting at him. The hood was by now soaked and stuck to his face, and every time he breathed in the hood would get caught in his mouth, and he would have to literally blow hard to get it out again. Oh, it was effective. He imagined his captor, and, for that matter, everyone who was watching him right now, beaming at how he struggled already in the beginning. But oh, they were wrong. It was only his body who craved air and struggled, but he wasn't the least bit intimidated.

He didn't know how much time had passed until he heard something again. Blimey, he was much too busy trying not to scream out from the pain that lingered in his arm, ready to hit him with every movement. But when suddenly the wet hood was pulled away from his head and he was blinded by the fluorescent lights, he couldn't help but turn his head away from it. Again, his shoulder protested, making him scream out. But the man landed a grip in his hair and pulled him back up. He screamed again.

"Mr Moriarty, glad you could join us." the man said. "Are you enjoying your stay so far?"

Jim mustered up enough strength so his voice wouldn't waver, "I am, thank you very much. I must have hurt my shoulder, though."

He man looked at it, "Yes, it is clearly dislocated." He pulled a chair and sat down opposite Jim. "Is there anything else you might want to tell me?"

Jim smirked, "I wouldn't know what. Apart from the fact that you bored me beyond belief with your little waterboarding session."

"You should enjoy it, Mr Moriarty. It might be the last shower you get for the time of your stay."

"That really isn't my problem as much as the problem of those people who have to be in the same room with me."

The man watched him for a while, then got up and walked behind him. Jim knew what would happen and mentally prepared himself. Two strong hands grabbed his injured shoulder and, with a deafening crack, relocated it. Again, Jim screamed out, but immediately felt relief when the first pain was gone and he could actually move his shoulder again.

The man sat down again, "Much better now, isn't it? Maybe, with that matter off your mind, you can focus on my questions. The Key Code. Tell me." Jim didn't answer. The man sighed, took another mouthful of water, gargled, and spat it in Jim's face.

Jim did not flinch, "Oh please, is that all you got? Spitting water in my face? Boooooring." Of course, he hated it. Spitting was amidst the lowest forms of humiliation, and even Jim never used it on other people. But he wouldn't let that get to him.

The man took another gulp, but this time, his hands moved to Jim's face, pinching his nose. Jim only grinned and opened his mouth up wide. He knew he didn't have much time. The man opposite him frowned, but then proceeded to spit the water into Jim's mouth. But he saw the dangerous glint in the criminal's eyes too late. Jim waited only a split-second before he spat it back, right into the other man's face.

The man jumped from his chair, wiped the water off his face and yelled, "You little shit!" before he raised his fist and hammered it into Jim's face so hard the chair tumbled over. Jim screamed out in pain when he landed on his injured shoulder again. The man pulled him up again, dealt a few hard slaps to Jim's face and then pulled the hood back over his head. A second later the door was opened and slammed shut again.

Jim, despite his burning cheeks, the pain in his arms and shoulder and the tears stinging in his eyes, smiled triumphantly. He had made a point, shown to his tormenter, and for that matter all the people that were watching him, that he wasn't a victim, that he would not cave in easily. He would force them to send Mycroft in. He knew they had much more in store for him, and yes, he could feel a twinge of fear when he thought of it; he was human after all. But as long as they didn't see it, everything would be fine.

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><p>Mycroft had watched the scene through the two-way mirror and couldn't help but be slightly amused. Okay, this man was threatening the whole world right now, but watching him, bound and beaten and still annoying his man Carter to the point that he stormed out of the room was plain amazing.<p>

Now Carter opened the door to the room Mycroft was sitting in, "Did you see what the bastard did?"

"Yes, I did. Nice move, I have to admit."

"He spat at me!"

In her corner, Anthea chuckled, "To be fair, you started the spitting competition."

"That's not funny, Ms [beep]! I will kill him, I will go in there and snap his neck!"

"No, you won't, Carter. You will go home now and enjoy dinner with you family." Mycroft waved him out, not leaving Moriarty out of his eyes. By now, the man was rocking back and forth in his chair, as if dancing to a song only he could here.

Anthea had gotten up and placed a hand on Mycroft's shoulder, "He's insane, isn't he?"

"I think so. But that only makes him more dangerous."

"Do you think we can break him?"

Mycroft smiled, "Of course. We've broken stronger men than him. We might have to cross a few lines more than usually, though."

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><p><strong>There's a nice button down there. It would be so kind if you actually rewarded the people who spend their time to entertain you. Not just me, everybody. Join the review revolution. <strong>


	3. A woman's worth

**DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One. Plus, the title from this chapter is from Alicia Keys's _A woman's worth_. No profit again.  
>Warnings: mild violence, humiliation, mentions of rape, some nasty words.<br>**

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><p><strong>Chapter Three: A woman's worth<strong>

Jim had no idea how much time had passed until somebody came in again. Despite his awkward position, he had dozed off a few times. His dreams had been more than weird. When he woke up from the last one, his face was covered in sweat; a nightmare, obviously. He sighed deeply. He was bored, terribly bored. So, when he heard the door open, he was almost relieved; finally, something would happen again.

The hood was being pulled from his head again, and Jim closed his eyes at the bright lights. He took in a few deep breaths and waited for his eyes to adjust. When he could finally open them, he grinned, "Well, that's a sight for sore eyes. Hullo, Miss." The woman, early thirties, long black hair tied in a bun, slim, tall, dressed in a blouse and skirt, only gave him a cold glance. "Yeah, I don't look my best right now, but believe me, I'm pretty dashing when I wear a suit." Another cold glance. Jim shrugged, "Your loss, not mine." The woman shrugged as well and walked over to Jim. "Are you going to slap me now? I have to admit that would be a nice sort of torture. I like it rough... if you understand." No answer. Jim felt something cold against his arm, and a second later his hands were free. His elbows followed. The sudden freedom of his hands caused Jim to hiss when the blood circulated freely again. He slowly brought his hands in front of him and inspected the damage; his wrists were raw, though not bleeding yet. He rubbed them while watching the woman bow down in front of him to undo the zip ties on his ankles. That was too much of a temptation. He leaned forward and whispered into her ear, "Oh yeah, this is how I like my women. On their knees, at my feet. Doing anything for my pleasure. Don't worry though; I'll warn you when I come."

She raised her head and looked into his eyes, "You're being very cocky now. I would shut up if I were you. If you keep begging for sex, you might get it. Not from me, though. But there are some men here who would _love_ a body like yours."

Jim grinned again, "Oh, this is good. You want me to be afraid. Oh well, I can pretend, if that's what you like." He faked a fearful face, "Oh please, please, don't let those scary man rape me." The smirk came back, "Good?"

The woman just shook her head and motioned to the corner of the cell, "Eat. At least you will shut up then."

Jim followed her motion: there was a tray with a bottle of water and a plate with some green stodge. No spoon. He looked back at the woman. "Are you going to spoon-feed me?"

She only smiled, a cold smile, "We have no spoons left. Guess you have to figure out how to eat that."

Jim rolled his eyes, but got up, only to tumble to the floor. Shite. He had forgotten. His feet of course couldn't carry him immediately, after having been bound to the chair for so long. Oh, they were good. The woman laughed. Jim ignored the prickling in his feet and tried to get up again. To no avail; his feet hurt too much, and he would only stumble again if he insisted to use them. He gritted his teeth a bit, but then crawled over to the tray, ignoring the woman's laugh. No, he had been right; there was no spoon or fork. Which left him with two possibilities to eat this; either eating it with his fingers, which hadn't been cleaned since he was here. Or lick it off the plate like a dog. Or, he could refuse to eat it all together. Didn't look tasty anyway. His thoughts raced; he was hungry. He needed food if he wanted to stand a chance in the long run. But humiliating himself so much and eat like a dog in front of this woman who was obviously here to make him feel bad? If he decided to not eat this, they would know that this was something they could use against him. He needed to eat it without showing them how much it actually got to him. So he shut down, dug his left hand into the food and started eating. Slowly, though. He wouldn't show them how starved he really was. _Admit no weakness. Eat this crap like it's the most natural thing in the world_. Humiliation didn't happen if the person subdued to it didn't show any signs of being humiliated; it was as easy as that. And oh so frustrating for the person in control.

The woman had in the meantime sat down on the chair and had lit up a cigarette, "Any good?"

"What, the food? Delicious." Nobody could ignore the sarcasm in his voice. But of course, there was no sense in pretending this was good food.

"Good. This is no vacation, after all. But I hear we have salmon downstairs. I could bring you some. In exchange for information, of course."

"Oh, please. You really think I would sell my soul for salmon?" Jim chuckled. "You still have no idea whom you're up against." Jim leaned against the wall and wiggled his toes, which by now felt quite okay again. "You know, I could just come over to you, overpower you, and stick my cock in between those delicate legs of yours before anybody outside could react. I could thrust at least…. four times before anybody would come in. Oh, I would probably get trashed for it, but that wouldn't make it any easier for you to get over it." It was a bluff, of course. Jim was a criminal mastermind, but he wasn't a bastard. He would never do such a thing to a woman. Blow them up, sure, but never hurt them in that way; that was for losers. But hell, if they could fuck with his mind, he could fuck with theirs.

And she reacted. He could see the hard glint in her eyes; she clearly felt insulted. "I have a brown belt."

Jim chuckled, "I have a black belt…. I win." He blew her a kiss. Then he took a sip of water. Oh God, that felt good. He forced himself to take only short sips. Then he glanced back at her. The look in her eyes was still hard, but she had shifted in the chair, had crossed her legs. Lord, Mycroft was surrounded by idiots. He put the water bottle down and got up, noticing how she cringed. "Oh, don't worry. Not today." He walked over to her, "I believe you are sitting on my chair."

She cleared her throat, "You don't need the chair. On your knees."

"Ah, sweetheart, I don't think so. See, I normally don't give head. Not with the way you've treated me so far." He didn't expect the punch. She drove her fist into his stomach so hard it knocked the wind out of him, and he doubled over, his knees making painful contact with the concrete floor.

She took the moment of defencelessness and in a swift movement handcuffed his hands to his ankles. As she tightened the cuffs to an almost unbearable level, she hissed into his ear, "I'd rather die than let such a sorry sod of a man touch me. You're disgusting." She punched him again. "Look at this, the greatest criminal of England, beaten up by a woman. Don't know why people think you're intimidating." She laughed. "I'll leave the hood off. Stay tight, sugar." With that, she left.

Jim shook his head; he had underestimated her. That would not happen again. He was glad that the mistake he had made had not led to worse consequences. Okay, this was an even worse position than the other one. The bitch had handcuffed his left wrist to his right ankle and vice versa, behind his back, forcing his body into an upright position if he didn't want too much damage from the handcuffs. Plus, his whole weight was on his shins, which were pressed onto the concrete floor. Every movement would break skin. This was bad enough, but, without the hood, the people who watched him- he was sure they did through the two-way-mirror – would see every expression on his face. Under no circumstances could he show any pain now. He raised his head and smiled at the mirror.

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><p>The woman entered Mycroft's room shortly after she left the cell. Mycroft smiled, "Nancy. Good job."<p>

But she was dissatisfied, "I expected more. He's still very cheeky."

"It's still early. At least you delivered a nice blow to his manhood." Mycroft watched Jim through the mirror. His breathing was heavy, but his eyes were still widely open and sparkling. Three days, and still no signs of a crack in James Moriarty's hard shell. Mycroft hadn't expected anything else. You don't become the greatest criminal in the world just like that. Moriarty had, sort of, lived the American Dream in the middle of the United Kingdom. He had started out small, dealt with the scum on the streets, until he had reached the top. And now he was sitting here in the cell, smiling at Mycroft, despite that he should be in pain. Mycroft smiled back, even though he knew Jim couldn't see him. "James Moriarty… You wanted my attention. You have it now."

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><p><strong>Thanks for the feedback I've got so far. I'm glad some people enjoy the story. Much love to you. <strong>


	4. And if that mockingbird don't sing…

**Thanks for all your reviews, guys. Feel free to continue ;)**

**Disclaimer: See chapter one plus, title of this chapter from Eminem's _Mockingbird_.**

**Warnings: **Mentions of sex, violence, torture.

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><p><strong>Chapter Four: And if that mockingbird don't sing….<strong>

They had turned the lights off at some point. Jim had remained on his knees, despite the pain. God, this was brutal. His legs were stinging. He actually felt a bit of sympathy for all the people he had bound like this throughout his career. He shifted a bit, but really, it didn't make much difference. He wondered what Sebastian was doing now. And Sherlock, of course. He wondered if Sherlock knew that his brother had him in custody. Or was he still trying to figure out where Adler had gone? Lord knew what it was about the chick that made man and women equally long for her. Yes, she was beautiful, sexy, tough, and a manipulative bitch, and Jim had enjoyed working with her, if only to keep Sherlock busy. But that was it. Okay, okay, she was quite good in bed. She knew all the things men liked, and she wasn't afraid to use them. Okay, maybe Jim knew why she was so popular. Of course, Sherlock hadn't fallen for her. He was an idiot. He didn't know what he missed out on. He smiled, thinking of his night with Irene. In contrast to Sherlock, Jim thoroughly enjoyed sex, if only as a distraction from the usual boredom. Of course, most of the women who fluttered their eyelashes at him were boring as well. Adler had been different, which was probably why he had enjoyed that night. Two powerful people enjoying themselves. Jim had had lots of women; somehow, they dug him. He had never really understood why; he wasn't particularly tall, not especially good-looking, at least by the standards of society that favoured tall, blonde people. Sebastian had once told him that it didn't matter that Jim didn't look like a Calvin Klein model; it was that certain something he had that drew women towards him. And Jim could play every role he wanted, he still attracted the girls. "Jim-from-IT" was the best example; he had played the gay part so convincingly and still Molly had been head-over-heels for him, ignoring the "obvious".

He was interrupted in his thoughts when he heard a crack and a humming. _Speakers. How predictable. Loud music. Hopefully something classy. Please, no gangsta rap. It's an insult to people like me if those pansies in baggies call themselves gangstas. _There was indeed music, though not at a really high volume. Jim knew the song. A lullaby. _Now hush little baby don't say word…._ _What the heck?_ Then he heard a muttered voice, "No, please, no." And then screams. "NOOOOOOOOOO…." _Oh, I get it. They're playing me tapes of other people they have interrogated. _He listened with keen interest, trying to figure out what was happening to the poor sod. He heard the tale-telling sounds of a bare hand hitting flesh. _Slaps. How boring. _The sound soon changed slightly. _Fists now. Still boring. _The man screamed out like a girl, though, begging them to stop. And there was always this other guy screaming, "WHERE IS IT?" "I don't know what you mean…" The captive whimpered. "YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!" Another hit. Jim faked a yawn. _Boring. If that's everything they got, I really don't have to worry._ There was now silence, apart from the song that still played and the sobbing man. Then suddenly, there was another crack, followed by a loud scream. _Aha. They've broken a bone._ He actually flinched a bit. He was definitely no sissy, but the cracking of bones had always bothered him. Mostly, he had left the room when Sebastian had decided it was time for bones to be broken, just because of the sound and the image of distorted body parts. Sebastian had often joked about it. What did he know? Another crack, another scream. Probably fingers. The man now apparently wept freely, judging by the lame jokes the man made. The song was still playing, but apparently they took a short break from trying to get information out of their victim. Jim listened to their mundane conversation about school uniforms and grilled chicken and the Queen. This continued for quite a long time, until the man had calmed down. Then they asked questions again, in a gentle tone. He just stuttered, that he really didn't know what they were talking about, and, please let me go, I have a family. Jim rolled his eyes. _As if they cared._ They didn't, they only resumed where they had left of. At least five fingers had been broken by now. He doubted the other five would follow and curse himself. He had eaten with his left hand earlier –or did that happen already yesterday? They knew now that he was left-handed, so, if their plan was to do to him what they did to the man on the tape, they would go for his left hand, most likely. He shrugged and hissed immediately as the handcuffs tore into the already raw skin of his wrists. His shins were raw as well. And the screaming continued. Swishing noises and then cracks. _Oh please. A whip? How predictable. _He chuckled and wondered if the whip would feel any different from Adler's riding crop. Oh, that had been fun. The woman knew how she could tame men. And yes, it had been as much fun to use it on her as it had been the other way round. Maybe he could get that bad-ass woman who had brought him the food to whip him, so at least both of them would enjoy it… He shook his head at the thoughts. _Oh Jim, you're reaching a new level of insanity here. You really shouldn't like that idea so much._ They continued with their whip session for about… oh hell, long enough to make the poor man scream utter nonsense and beg for his mummy. He sighed; he was bothered. Not so much because of the violence, but because this man disgusted him. Weakness had always disgusted him. He had witnessed a lot of... sessions Sebastian had held, and he always had found that men who begged for mercy betrayed the image of a gentleman. Sebastian had felt the same, and had developed a charming tendency to hurt those the most that screamed the loudest. Jim thought for a second that Sebastian would have had his fun with this one. The soundtrack would have been better, though. He breathed out and decided that he could as well take a little nap. After all, he was sure that there was nothing on this tape that could possibly keep him remotely interested or, even better, scare him. After the whip, they had totally lost his respect. So he let his head sink on his chest and dozed away.

He woke up when he landed on the floor. The lights were still out, only a dim light bulb from the floor spread some light into the cell. It was enough though so that Jim could see that the men who had just entered were, to say the very least, _huge_. One of them had knocked him over.

The other one said, "Wakey wakey. Eggs and bakey. Did you enjoy the show?"

Jim only smirked, "What, you mean the little torture session? Booooring."

The man laughed, "Maybe it will stop being boring if you are on the receiving end, what do you think?"

"You think I've never been whipped before? Please, what kind of sex do you have at home?" He was being pulled up roughly. Two man linked arms with him and dragged him out of the cell.

The man who had laughed only murmured, "Oh, how I will enjoy it to wipe that smirk off your ugly face, you little Irish shit."

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><p>Joel Johnson, Harry Cooper, Matthew Durkan, Joshua Taylor and Christian Carlisle. Mycroft's best men. He leaned back in his chair, clearly not satisfied. He had hoped to avoid this. He wasn't particularly fond of violence, not that early in the game at least. But James Moriarty was a special case. He hadn't reacted the slightest to the tape, apart from a few smiles every now and then. Smiles. Who the hell smiled at other people being tortured? They had to take a different road with Moriarty. Normally, he would try to scare him so much that they wouldn't even have to resort to violence to get what they wanted. He had seen people cave in and tell them everything when they heard the tape. The cruel images that had played before their eyes had made them confess to everything. It was easy with the ordinary people: fuck with their mind and they would do anything to protect their body. But James Moriarty was different. His mind was unaffected till now, despite the humiliation he had suffered from the hands of Carter and Nancy. Mycroft had spent a sleepless night over the matter, and had decided to change track. Try to break the hard shell first and then use the more psychological manners of interrogation. With his body broken, Moriarty might be more susceptible to being degraded. And these five men were just the right people for the job.<p>

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><p><strong>Oh oh.<strong>


	5. I'mma break that birdie's neck

**Again, thanks for your feedback. It makes me wanna write much more. **

**Disclaimer: See Chapter One. Plus, Title of this chapter again from Eminem's _Mockingbird. _**

**Warnings: **The usual: Blood, violence, torture.

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><p><strong>Chapter Five: I'mma break that birdie's neck<strong>

Jim was dragged down a long corridor that was only dimly lit. His bare feet scratched over the concrete floor, and he could feel the pressure in his shoulders again. So he was rather thankful when they arrived in a room and he was thrown to the floor by the two guys that had carried him. The handcuffs were taken off; then he was pulled upright by his hair, which elicited a hiss from him, and pushed onto a chair. One of them held his arms behind his back while another tore away his clothes until he was naked. Then his wrists were fixed with zip ties behind his back, and one of the men tied a rope around his waist and fixed it to the back of the chair. This all happened in less than twenty seconds, Jim noticed; so, no amateurs. When they were done, they formed a circle around him.

One of them murmured, "This is the world's greatest criminal? He's barely 5' 7''. I imagined him being a bit more… intimidating."

Another one answered, "Me too, Joel. I think we all did. And he's Irish, can you imagine?"

Joel chuckled, "Oh Harry, this is gonna make it so much more fun. Don't you think, Matthew?"

Matthew, the tallest of the men, nodded "Yeah, definitely. You hear chicks dig Irish accents? I wonder how they feel about an Irish bloke screaming his lungs out."

The fourth one said, "Don't know what they find about Irish people though."

"Christian, nobody knows. I think those chicks must have a really low IQ. And this one isn't even good-looking. Guess he's still a virgin."

"Well, Joshua, there might be the opportunity to change that today. I call dibs."

Jim rolled his eyes, "Ladies, please. If we're having a tea party here, you might as well offer me some cookies. If not, please, can we start the interrogation? I know you're trying to make me feel bad about my heritage, but seriously, if been insulted all my life for being Irish, you really need to find something new if you want to even remotely hurt me. And for the record, I probably had more girls in my bed than the five of you combined. And I'm sure I had the way dirtier sex."

Joel ran a hand through his hair, "You're being quite cheeky for somebody who is naked and bound to a chair." He then let his eyes wander over Jim's body. "Oh, but I see you're no newbie to physical pain. You've got quite a lot of scars there. Where do they come from?"

Jim tilted his head, "I live."

Joel chuckled, "For now, yes. Now, I won't pretend I don't want to do this, cause, really, I do. But we need to follow protocol here, so I have to ask you: What can you tell me about that key code everybody is talking about?"

"I can tell you that if such a thing existed, you wouldn't understand it." Jim said.

Matthew, who stood behind Jim, grabbed his hair and pulled his head back, "You think you're smarter than us, don't you?"

Jim looked into Matthew's eyes, "Yes, this is exactly what I think."

Matthew pulled some more, causing a slight discomfort for Jim now. "I want to remind you that you are at our mercy right now. You probably shouldn't insult us."

"Or what? You're going to hurt me? You can't scare me with all your little threats, or that lovely little tape you played me. I want to speak to Mycroft Holmes."

"Mr Holmes doesn't deal with people like you; he has better things to do." Matthew pulled once more, but then let go of Jim's hair. "I think it's time we start."

Joel nodded, "Now, I'll ask you again. The Key Code?"

"Ah yeah. The Key Code." Jim nodded. "No."

"What 'no'?"

"No. Way." Jim held his eyes open when the first slap came. It was of an incredible power, and he would have surely tumbled off the chair if the rope hadn't held him.

Joel grinned, "Didn't expect that now, did you? The Key Code." When Jim shook his head, he slapped him again, the other cheek this time. "The Key Code."

Jim just turned his head again, "Nope."

_Slap. Slap. Slap. _

"The Key Code."

"Noho…." He could see that Joel's fingers now made a fist. Oh dear, this would hurt.

"The Key Code."

"Oh, will you stop this? It's boring." The fist came down on his face, hard. The pain shot through his entire body, and he couldn't help but moan.

"The Key Code."

Jim, conscious of the fact that his voice might sound rather slurry now, decided not to answer, but just gave Joel a vacant look.

_Punch. Punch. Punch. Crack. _

And Jim screamed out. The last blow had, unexpectedly, not been dealt to his face, but to his stomach, and he could feel a rib give way under the force.

_Punch. Punch. Punch. Punch._

All dealt to his stomach. He fought against it, but oh lord, it hurt so much, he just had to scream. There were even tears stinging in his eyes now. He couldn't help it; pain did that to people. It was a human reaction, but a weakness nevertheless, and Jim hated to show weaknesses.

The laughing that had erupted among the men didn't make it any better. Matthew leaned forward and murmured, "Not so cocky anymore, are we now? The Key Code."

Jim shook his head again. He couldn't risk talking now; chances were his voice would break. So he just looked back at Joel, the same vacant look still on his face. Joel gave him a fake look of pity, and then brought his fist down on Jim's face again, this time deliberately hitting his nose. Jim expected it to break, but the crack he waited for did not come. There was blood though; he could feel it as it ran down his chin. Another punch, this time hitting his jaw, but again, nothing broke. He noticed though that there was blood in his mouth, too, now. The glint he had given Carter a while ago came back to his eyes as he raised his head to face Joel. There was only one way to get through this with a bit of honour. A cold knockout. So Jim took a breath and spat in Joel's face.

Joel arched away, running his hand over his face, looking at it, noticing the blood. "That, my friend, was a mistake."

Jim felt another punch connecting with his face- then there was nothing.

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><p>Mycroft had entered the room when Joel had paged him that Jim was out cold. There was no camera in this room; nobody needed video material of this. Even the tape they had played to Jim was the only recording of a session they had, and it was only for intimidating purposes.<p>

Now Mycroft looked at the figure on the floor. They had loosened the rope that had bound Jim to the chair. Now he was laying there in the recovery position, his hands still tied behind his back, blood running from his nose and mouth. Mycroft looked at Kasey Sloan, the doctor that worked for them, "Anything important broken?"

Sloan shook his head, "A rib only. The nose is only slightly damaged, and the blood from his mouth is from his cheek. He'll recover soon."

Mycroft nodded his thanks to the doctor and turned to Joel, "Did you find out something?"

"Nothing about the code, Sir. But he told us he wants to speak to you. Maybe you…."

But Mycroft interrupted him, "That won't happen. I have things to… repair…. and I need to focus on them. I have faith in you that you will get all the information you need from him."

Matthew seemed doubtful, "He didn't cave in. And he was in pain; we all could see that. We might need a new strategy."

Mycroft looked down at Jim again, "The strategy is good. I believe in you guys. Give him something to wake up with."

"Yes, sir." Joel said. "And after that?"

"After that… we'll see." Mycroft turned on his heel and left the room.

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><p><strong>And, for the record, I really love Irish men. These are just the thoughts of some really brutish people trying to hurt our poor Jim.<strong>

**And, I am still open to any suggestions. If you want something special happen to Jim, send me a PM. I'll try and do it. **


	6. Many have tried to go into the night

**And a new chapter for you. Thanks again for all of your support. As of now, I have three more chapters planned. Don't want to be repetitive. If you want this to continue, I need your ideas. :)**

**Disclaimer: see chapter one. Plus, title from this chapter is taken from _The Other Side_ by the fanastic Bruno Mars, Cee Lo Green and B.O.B. **

**Warnings** Wounds, blood, pain, humiliation. 

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><p><strong>Chapter Six: <strong>**Many have tried to go into the night, cross over the line and come back alive **

When Jim woke up, it was dark again, and he was still naked. It took him a while to remember what had happened, but as soon as he had recalled it, he had to smile. They were so easy to manipulate. He had wanted them to knock him out, he had made them. Thank God, because frankly, his broken rib ached like hell. He raised his hand and noticed that he wasn't tied up for once. Wow, that was a nice change. He brought his hand to his nose and inspected it. Dried, crusted blood under it, and if he touched it, it hurt slightly, but it wasn't broken. He then let his tongue wander through his mouth; all teeth still there. He had probably bitten his cheek at the latest punch, hence the blood in his mouth. He spat it out. Disgusting. He could do with a toothbrush. Hell, he could do with a shower. Judging by the state of his hair, he was here for at least… three days. He even noticed that he was by now smelling rather bad. Oh well, apart from the fact that he hated looking and smelling like a bum, it really wasn't his problem. And hell, he needed a toilet. Thank God they hadn't given him a lot to drink, because that would have really aggravated the whole situation. He sighed deeply; well, since he wasn't bound, he could as well try and take a nap before they would turn the light back on. He rolled on his back, only to scream out in pain and roll back on his front again, where his rib started protesting immediately. He hissed and waited till the pain had faded again, then tried to figure out what had just happened. Okay, he had rolled onto his back and the pain had immediately started. He moved his hand to touch his back; then he smiled. Oh, those bastards. So, they had used the whip on him. Quite a lot, judging by the feeling in his back. Of course. He had told them a whip wouldn't intimidate him. So they had done the next best thing; using it on him when he was out, so that, even if the look of it didn't shake him, he would at least feel the pain it could cause. They were brighter than he had expected. Oh, it had probably been Mycroft's idea. It sounded like something only the intelligent people would know. Sebastian too had often wondered what good it was to inflict pain on someone who wasn't conscious. Jim had known why. Two things actually: First, the pain would be there nevertheless: okay, the person might miss the whole fun, but waking up and be in pain really was just as bad. And of course, there was the second thing, which, under certain circumstances, could be much more frightening: the fact that somebody did something to your body while you couldn't defend yourself. The feeling of absolute powerlessness, of being at the mercy of your captor. They could have done everything with him while he was out, and they wanted him to know. And of course, in Jim's case now, there was the third thing: with his back on fire and his rib broken, there was no position where he could even get remotely comfortable for a little nap. He sighed deeply and got up into a sitting position. This was going to slow. He was actually getting bored. He knew that he would have to last a long time, and he was not very happy about the fact that he was injured so early in the game. He could handle being beaten, sure. But now he had a weakness, and he was sure they would use it. A broken finger, he could cope with, or a broken toe. But a rib was different. Talking would hurt, even breathing did hurt now. He was sure they would have a second session very soon, to take advantage of the situation. How long he could last he didn't know. The fact that he was screaming wasn't bad. It was a human reaction, and, as much as some people might doubt it, Jim was still a human being. The tears were a bit worse, but again, human. And they didn't show weakness as much as other people would think. Begging, that was the worst thing. Jim was determined not to beg, which would consequently lead to more pain, until he would spit out blood plus the information they wanted on this non-existing key code. But if they found out the key didn't exist, he couldn't follow his 'Let's destroy Sherlock" plan. So, he had to pretend the key existed, and take whatever they did to him, until they would be fed up and he would finally get a chance to speak to Mycroft. Easy peasy. He would have laughed if his rib didn't ache so much.

Suddenly, the lights were turned back on. Jim fought the urge to cover up his private parts. He needed them to think he was comfortable like this. He wasn't strictly uncomfortable; after all, he had nothing to hide. Still, it was just another measure they took to add to his vulnerability, so he had to make it clear to them he wasn't bothered.

When the door opened and the woman entered, again carrying a tray with the same king of stodge, in orange this time, Jim put on his most winning smile, "Oh, hello. How are you today? I didn't catch your name last time."

"It's Mrs York." Nancy replied.

"Mrs York. Sounds like you being a teacher and me your naughty student." Jim shifted in his position. "I'm sorry I'm not decent. I lost my clothes somewhere."

Nancy let her eyes wander over his body and made a grimace, "I'll send somebody to find them. This is really not a sight I want to put on people."

"Trying to make me feel bad again? I can assure you that, if we were outside, and you'd met me in a pub, I would have made you come at least five times by now. So hard that you would beg for more." He smiled at her, fully aware how that had to look, with blood all over his face.

She actually shivered a bit. "I told you last time. You're disgusting." Nevertheless, she walked over to him and placed the tray at his feet. "Eat." She wiggled her nose, "And then I'll see whether you can get a shower. You stink."

"Wow. You're being polite." Jim reached for the plate but she took it from his hands. "Oh, you're going to feed me this time?"

"Oh please." She took a look at the plate and then emptied over Jim's head. "It looks like we need to teach you some more manners." She also emptied the water bottle on the floor right before Jim's feet. "You can lick it of the floor of you're thirsty." She turned on her heel and left.

Jim swallowed down the sudden rage inside of him; who did this woman think she was? He made a mental note to deal with her when he was back on the streets again. He didn't know why suddenly he was so angry. Probably because he was now covered in food, and fucking hungry, and the water that could have help get rid of the coppery taste of his own blood which frankly disgusted him was now making a puddle on the concrete floor. He was actually close enough to really lick it off, but, no way. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction. They would have to give him water eventually if they didn't want him to die; he'd just have to wait. Be patient.

He got up and walked over to the mirror, inspecting the damage done. His nose was bruised, and there was blood crusted under it. There was also blood all over his chin, dried as well, that had originated from a cut in the corner of his mouth. He looked like a vampire after a particular big feast. He smiled at the mirror; there was a coating of blood over his teeth as well. Yeah, vampire, totally. He had to chuckle, clutching his aching rib. He remembered how he had smiled at Nancy. He must have looked like a psychopathic cannibal. He inspected his torso. Bruises, all over it. Aw well, nothing new there. He had seen that picture often enough. He then turned his back to the mirror and glanced over his shoulder to check it out. Oh, yeah, they had really made a good job. There wasn't a single part of his back that looked normal; dried blood everywhere, welts everywhere. Well, some new scars to go with his collection. Women would dig it.

He walked back to his corner and sat down again, hissing. His eyes lingered on the puddle on the floor. He slowly reached over and dipped his hand in. Oh, that felt good. So fresh… He would have given the world for a drink now. Even tap water would do. But, fuck it, he would not beg. Jim Moriarty had never begged for anything in his life. And he would not start in the most crucial moment of his career.

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><p>Mycroft shook his head. He had been watching Jim since the lights had been turned on, and right now, he was completely convinced that he was no step closer to what he wanted. This man was not human. Well, they could reduce him to it. He was here for three days now. Mycroft had hoped they would have broken him by now, but apparently, it needed even more than a beating session. So he picked up his telephone and called Joel, "It's Mycroft Holmes. I want you to transport him to the isolation cell. Plan for three weeks." He hung up again and watched Joel getting into the cell. Moriarty didn't even react properly; he just looked vacantly at Joel and even leaned forward when he saw the syringe in Joel's hand so that he had free access to Jim's neck. Mycroft felt a sudden satisfaction when Jim was out after a couple of seconds, only a limp body in Joel's arms. Limp. Defenceless. It was a special sight. Delicious, to say the very least. The man that posed a threat to the whole world, out cold. In his hands. He took a deep breath. It was tempting. Tempting to break him during the time he was out. But he wouldn't do it. That was not playing fair. And, in contrast to James Moriarty, Mycroft was fair. To some extent. Now. He was the Government, after all.<p>

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><p><strong>Poor Jim will be bored out of his mind in isolation. ^^ Again, a reminder, you can still bring in your ideas if you feel there's something you want to seeread. **


	7. But I am never beaten

**Thanks again for the reviews. I'm so glad some people like this story! You are amazing. I cannot reply individually to the not-signed-in people, so here's a big shout out for you: THANKS A MILLION! **

**Disclaimer: see Chapter One, plus, the title from this chapter is from _Hush Hush_ from The Pussycat Dolls.**

**Warnings**:** starvation, beatings, other stuff.  
><strong>

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><p><strong>Chapter Seven: But I am never beaten, broken, not defeated<strong>

When Jim woke up again, he was in a new cell. It took him a while to realize that, though. _The dose must have been higher than last time. _He was still naked. As quickly as he could with his clouded mind, he inspected his body. _No new injuries. _He propped himself up against the wall in a sitting position, finding it pretty difficult with a head that felt twice its size. Then he looked around. The cell was tiny, about 6 by 8 feet. There was a battered mattress in the corner, with a stained blanket and a smelly pillow. Next to the mattress was a hole in the ground, obviously for toilet issues. At the bottom of the door was a hole, probably to supply him with food without having to enter the cell. Isolation cell. Just great. He sighed deeply, knowing he was in for a boring time. He had feared this would happen. Not because he was afraid of the outcome, but because nothing would be happening now for… at least a week. Most probably more. Boring. Nothing here to entertain him. He checked the walls. No, nothing. He ran his fingers through his hair, flinching at how greasy it felt. He'd give the world to have a shower right now. Or food. Or water. But the only thing he could do was…

He raised his head when he heard a movement at the door. A plate was pushed through the hole, plus a bottle of water. Jim, too lazy to get up, crawled over to the plate. No spoon, again. However, there was a difference in the food. It was not the usual crap, but beans. Jim chuckled. He started having a bit of respect for them. His eyes went to the toilet hole. It was close enough to the mattress so that the smell would probably kill him in his sleep. First timer, probably. And the beans would make it only worse. So, the decision had to be made between starving a bit more, or feeling a bit dirtier and probably suffocate in here. He thought of Mycroft, of Sherlock, of how he wanted to destroy them both and pulled the tray towards himself. He had to stay strong.

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><p>Time passed by, although Jim had no idea how much. The lights stayed on the whole time, it was not possible to keep track of night and day, not even if you were Jim Moriarty. The food that was shoved in wasn't a help either. There was not real schedule they followed; once they had brought food three times in what Jim guessed was less than an hour, and he was sure the other time they hadn't brought some in at least 24 hours. But at least there was enough to drink now. Jim spent most of the time sleeping, revolting as it was. The pillow smelled like there had been at least fifty people sleeping on it and sweating into it, and the mattress was so used he could have slept on the concrete floor and he wouldn't have felt a difference.<p>

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><p>But as time passed and nothing happened and Jim wasn't the least bit tired anymore, and they stopped giving him food altogether, he felt he was slowly losing his mind. The smell in this little cell almost killed him, and he felt terribly weak from just lying on this shitty mattress, and he was so bored he had actually started reciting poems. To any listener it must have sounded like he was now completely insane. Which, really, wasn't that far from the truth. Jim had been pretty mental when he had arrived here, but now he was reaching a whole new level. Some nights he just lay there, giggling about… hell, he didn't even know about what. Some nights he lay on his back singing to himself. Other nights he just rocked himself back and forth. He was so bored, so damned bored, and so starved, and there was nothing he could do to relieve himself from this boredom apart from trying to drown himself in the toilet, and he was positive that despite his lack in height that wouldn't work out. The bare fact that he even thought about it showed that his mental stability was slowly deteriorating. But lord, his mind, his brilliant mind had nothing to do; he was even trying to figure out how long he was down here from the sounds his stomach made. It was aching from the lack of food, and he was pretty sure that, had he a mirror, he would see that he had lost much weight. But then again, he didn't want a mirror because he was damn sure he looked like shit, judging by the smell and the stage of his hair. He needed to get out, out of this god damn cell.<p>

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><p>And then, one night, finally his wish came true. When the door opened, and Joel stood in the doorframe, Jim was lying on his mattress, curled into a ball.<p>

Joel looked down. Three weeks. Three weeks in isolation and the cheeky man he had knocked out and brought in here had turned into a wreck. They hadn't given him food for the last week, trying to weaken his body again so he would break at the next session they had planned for… well, as soon as Moriarty managed to get up and get to the interrogation room. So he leaned against the door and said, "Get up." Jim slowly raised his head. Joel involuntarily shivered. There was a look of pure… contempt in his eyes. Joel had expected fear, distress, anything, but not contempt. He made a few steps forwards and gave Jim a kick to the ribs. "I said: Get up!" Jim rolled on his back at the kick. Joel added another. "Come on, we don't have all day, and I really don't wanna stay in here any longer. Gosh, it smells terrible. Get your skinny ass up now or I'll rip it apart." Jim was not sure he could, but he tried propping himself up against the wall. But he couldn't. His legs gave in and he tumbled back on his mattress. Joel laughed, "Not so cocky anymore? Well, if you can't walk, I guess you'll have to crawl. Now hurry up before I put your head into your toilet hole. I might do it anyway, later. Now, crawl, little cur."

Jim hated it. He had tried, tried to put up a brave face, but his body just wouldn't play along this time. He tried again to get up, but his legs were too weak. After Joel dealt another kick to his side, Jim swallowed his pride and started crawling. It hurt him more than any beating could, to be on all four before this bastard.

Joel enjoyed the show, apparently. "I should have brought a leash. You'd make a fine dog. They have to be broken in, too. Guess we finally reached that part. Left next, please. Don't worry, it's not that far. Second door." When they arrived there, he opened the door. "To the chair, please."

Jim raised his head. The other four were there, too; Christian, Matthew, Joshua and Harry. Oh god, no, please, no beating now. But he didn't show it. He crept over to the chair and pulled himself up with what force he had left until he sat on it.

Harry rummaged through a bag at his feet, "We've got something for you." He pulled out something and held it in front of Jim's face. A mirror.

Jim looked up and almost got a shock. Nothing, nothing was left of the dashing man he once had been. He looked like he had lost at least twenty pounds. His face was covered in a thick layer of sweat, he was deadly pale, and his hair looked like he had accidently dipped it into a bucket full of Olive Oil. His once fiery brown eyes looked dull now, and there were heavy bags under them. God, how long had he been in there?

Joel chuckled, "Like what you see? I don't think you're gonna have much sex anytime soon. Now… you can have some food again, take a shower, lie in a proper bed…. Doesn't that sound just great? Of course, you have to give us a little something for it. The Key Code."

Jim still looked at the person staring back at him from the mirror. He refused this. He refused to look like this. Like a starved out bum. No. This couldn't be it. So he raised his head in a final attempt of bravery and said, with his voice barely audible, "I won't tell you lot about it. You can go to hell. I'll see you there once I am done with burning this island. Now, get me to Mycroft Holmes."

He felt two hands on both his shoulders, and the beating started.

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><p><strong>Poor Jim. <strong>


	8. So if you must falter, be wise

**THANK YOU! You guys are amazing! **

**Disclaimer: See Chapter One. Plus, the title of this chapter is from Rihanna'S _Disturbia_. No profit made.**

**Warnings: Mentions of violence. I'm being nice this time.  
><strong>

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><p><strong>Chapter Eight: So if you must falter, be wise<strong>

They had to carry him back to his old cell as he wasn't able to walk. Joel just threw him on the floor and locked the door. Jim couldn't move. He just lay there in sheer agony, spitting out blood. They had dressed him again, in his old clothes, which by now where way too large for him. He tried to get up, but the pain made him almost collapse again. He proceeded to just lie there, shivering from pain and trying not to drown on his blood. But broken as his body was, his mind, though clouded, worked just fine. They had kept him in isolation for what he knew now had been three weeks, starved him for some time to weaken his body so he would be easier to break. Oh, but he hadn't broken. No no. He had screamed, he had cried, he was pretty sure he had passed out at least once and had been brought back with a bucket of water, but he hadn't begged, and he hadn't given them anything on the key code. In return he had gotten the worst beating he had ever received. And it had ended only because one of the guys had figured he couldn't take anymore. And Jim had actually been quite thankful. His body couldn't take much more. He was positive no bones were broken apart from the ring finger on his left hand. _So that, if any woman ever wants you again, and you'll get married, you will always remember us. _He chuckled; _as if I would live long enough to get married._ His finger was standing at a weird angle when he looked at it. He just closed his eyes again, trying not to pass out.

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><p>Mycroft had watched with keen interest the curled up figure of Jim Moriarty on the floor. Joel had already told him that they hadn't gotten anything out of him. Again. Even after three weeks of no human contact and one week of starvation, Jim was no closer to reveal his knowledge. And slowly, Mycroft ran out of ideas. He knew that Jim had to rest before they tried anything on him again. At least two days. He needed proper food, proper drink. Mycroft picked up the phone and gave the necessary instructions. Then he looked at the fragile frame again.<p>

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><p>Jim slept for two hours. When he woke up, he was able to move again, and crawled into his favourite corner. He hadn't even properly reached it when the cell door opened and Nancy came in carrying another plate. She placed it at his feet and left again, not saying a word. Jim looked at his, and smiled; it was a stew, in a plate, with a spoon. Full of vegetables. So, they were trying to build him up again. Now, he was on the winning side. He just had to refuse this, waiting until they were so worried they would send Mycroft in. Then again, if he didn't eat this, he would probably die soon. And he had no intention of doing so. So he ignored the pain and sat up straight, or as straight as he could, took the spoon and ate the stew. It was delicious. Well, by this building's standards. He emptied the plate and felt much better already. His eyes wandered through the room and remained on the mirror. Thank God he couldn't see himself in it. He knew, eventually, when he was strong enough to stand again, he would be drawn to it, but right now, he was still too much in… yeah, shock about the man who had stared back at him from the mirror earlier. It was not that he didn't know what a man looked like after having gone through what he had gone through. He had seen it often enough, when Sebastian had been at work. A perfectly healthy man reduced to a walking dead. But he was mildly surprised it had happened to him. Jim had never been particularly strong, at least physically, but he had a high pain threshold, and they hadn't even come close to trespassing it. But it frustrated him to no end that his body couldn't handle as much as he wanted. The ghost that had looked back at him in the mirror had shown him that. And he knew that by now, he had to look even worse. He brought his hand slowly up to his face, touching the bruises. His left eye was swollen, and there was a bruise forming under the other one as well. They felt hot against his cold fingers, throbbing. A slap had caught his lip, which had split. One tooth had even loosened, thankfully one of the molars only. He didn't know where the blood he had spat out had come from, but his best bet was the lip. Adding this to the bad shape he had been in before the beating had started, and the result was… crushing. He closed his eyes, thinking about his chances. Mentally, he was slowly regaining his composure. He was quite proud of himself: despite having been quite anxious about the beating, he had not shown it. He didn't feel affected; it was fear that affected people, and Jim was not afraid. Anything that didn't hurt his mind…. But his body was another issue, and Jim, realistic as he was, knew that even if they started feeding him real stuff now, that would change again soon. As soon as they felt he was being strong enough again to survive another questioning, they would feed him the usual crap again, probably with a little extra sneer from Mrs York. And then, God knew what they would come up with next. No beatings, that much he was sure of. At least, no more beatings like this. He had shown them twice now that he wasn't impressed. They had to come up with something new. He raised his head slowly, and waved his hand at the mirror. He would be ready.<p>

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><p>Mycroft was more than frustrated as he saw that. What on Earth did he have to do to finally make him give up? Mycroft was slowly nearing the end of his wits. Of course, there were many things that could be done, but he was the Government, and there were certain things he just didn't do to another human being. Even if this human being was as far from human as he could possibly imagine. Of course he knew Moriarty wanted to talk to him. The man had uttered that wish now a number of times, but Mycroft was still reluctant. He had heard of Sherlock's little pool adventure with Moriarty, and personally, he didn't like that his younger brother had caught this nutcase's attention. Adding to this the fact that Moriarty and his ominous Key Code were a danger for the whole world… Mycroft really didn't know what worried him the most. Of course, the world was important, but Sherlock was his brother whom he, despite all sibling rivalry, deeply loved. And the sole thought that Moriarty could hurt Sherlock… if Mycroft could have his way, Moriarty would have spilled the beans already and would be buried somewhere by now. But no. There were some boundaries he had to respect. Of course, he could tell his… old friends… that this man was a danger to the queen and country, and he would probably get the "Do whatever you deem necessary" line. But it was still too early. Or was it? As long as Jim Moriarty was in here, he couldn't do anything, but what if he had sold the Key Code already? Somebody out there could plan destruction of the world right now. They were wasting time. And if he wanted to talk to Mycroft… If he talked to Mycroft, and Mycroft could get the information they wanted, it would be all good. Just why was he then so reluctant to go in there and have a chat with Moriarty? It wasn't that much legwork, after all. But something, and Mycroft just couldn't put his finger on it, something put him off this man. And after all, he had people to take care of this. He had never talked to any prisoner before, he wouldn't start now. That was some attention he wasn't willing on giving Moriarty. So he called Joel. "Two days. Think of something. Till then, let him rest."<p>

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><p><strong>Told you I was being nice this time :) Even Jim needs a little rest. <strong>

**I wanna take this moment to ask you to go and read Gryphon31's amazing fic _Checkmate_. It also deals with the time of Jim's captivity, it's amazing, and you need to read it. Leave her/him some lovely reviews. And me, if you like :)  
><strong>


	9. What started out as a simple altercation

**AN: You are so LOVELY, people. Thank you so much for all of your kind reviews and for putting me on lists and all. And for reading _Checkmate_. **

**Disclaimer: See chapter 1, plus, title of this chapter is taken from Rihanna's _Man _**_**Down**. _**No profit is being made. **

**Warnings: NOT FLUFF.**

**I have been asked not to put warnings up anymore, cause they are considered spoilers. I don't feel too good about this, so let me know what you think. Now, if there is a possibility you could be triggered by anything that could happen, don't read, or send me a PM and I tell you whether to read it or not. To all my sick puppies, read on.  
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><p><strong>Chapter Nine: <strong>**What started out as a simple altercation…**

They left Jim alone for two days. Mrs York came in three times a day, supplying him with actual food. On the second day, Jim was able to walk again. Not properly, it was more staggering, but it was nevertheless a display that he was getting better and that they had not broken him. His first way led him of course to the mirror. Jesus, brutal. If Sebastian could see him like that, he would go out and make some people regret their involvement. Like, seriously. In moments like these, Jim was more than happy that Sebastian was on his side. Bless Sebastian. A delicious man. Tall, blonde hair, blue eyes. The hands of a piano man. And so ready to do anything for Jim. Jim was actually looking forward to be back with Sebastian. But first things first. What was going to happen now? Jim knew they wouldn't try beating him to a pulp again, at least not with their fists. What was next? Bats, whips… Boring. Serious mutilation? Not so boring. Yet, this was the government. There was only so much they could do to him. He was pretty sure the broken finger was already borderline illegal. But then again, he was special. And they knew it. They knew he would never mention anything that went on in here, so what did they have to lose? Nothing. However, if they didn't get information on his Key Code, they had a lot to lose. Or so they thought. Jim paced through the cell as well as he could. So, what else could they do? What was the next step? If this was Sebastian, he would start pulling out toenails first. Simple, but very efficient. Oh, it was a pleasure watching Sebastian work. He was perfection, whistling _Twisted Nerve_ and extracting one nail after the other. But that sounded way too middle ages for the government. He sighed. He had no idea. That was new to him. And it pissed him off.

The door opened. Jim grinned, "Mrs York. How very nice to see you again. What have you got for me this time?"

She smiled her cold smile, "Chili con carne."

"Delicious. Oh, and I even get a spoon. Are you spoiling me because I've been such a good criminal lately, or is that your special treat for me?"

"Shut your trap or I'll give it to you rectally." She put the tray down and left without another word.

Jim only shrugged and sat down. He took a spoonful of the Chili and tasted it. It was really delicious. Only when he had swallowed it, he noticed that they hadn't been too careful with the chili part. It was really spicy. He looked around; no water bottle. No bread either. He had to smile; oh, that was good. He shoved the plate away, trying to catch his breath again. He had calmed down a bit when Matthew entered with a bat in his hand.

Jim raised his head, "Oh please. Are we going down that route? I have to eat this or you beat me up?"

"Exactly. And believe me, I'm not afraid of shattering bones with this baby here. Your choice. Well, not exactly. You _will_ eat this. It's rather your choice whether or not you will eat it with all of your body intact."

"Oh please. You should know by now that violence doesn't get you anywhere with me. So please, save yourself the trouble and just leave, and tell Mycroft I'd love to share dinner with him." Matthew seemed to think about it. Then he left. Only to come back with the rest of the gang about five minutes later. "Ah, here we are again. Matthew, dear, even if you bring your pals along, you can't make me eat that." Nobody answered him; they only walked towards him. Jim noticed to late what they were up to; he had expected they would pull him up so that Matthew and his bat had free access to his more delicate areas. Like kidneys, for instance. He hadn't expected them to pin him to the floor, each of them grabbing one of his extremities.

Matthew, with the plate in his hand, sat down on his stomach. "You're right. Violence might not get us anywhere…. So far. But even you are limited, Moriarty. Joel, sit down on his arm, I need you to carry the plate." Joel did as he was asked, sending pain through Jim's arm. He moaned. Matthew shifted his weight a bit. "I will pinch your nose. You will have to open your mouth eventually. And then I will pour this delicious Chili inside you, and you will eat it all. How does that sound?" Jim decided it was better not to answer, but kept his mouth closed. Matthew looked up to Harry who was sitting on Jim's other arm. "I need you to put your hand over his mouth immediately when I take the spoon out. Can't have him spit this shit in my face."

Harry grinned, "Speaking of spit…"

Matthew grinned back. "Your idea. You go first." Harry didn't need to be asked twice, but spat right into the chili, took the plate from Matthew's hand, and gave it to Christian, who spat in it too. Everybody took a good spit before the plate came back to Matthew. "I'll talk to the boss to give you guys a raise." More spit, then Matthew stirred the chili and handed the plate back to Joel. "_Bon appetite_, sir." He swayed a spoon full of chilli over Jim's mouth while pinching his nose at the same time, "Open up wide."

Jim fought. He struggled hard. But with his nose pinched, four extremely heavy guys sitting on his arms and legs, and Matthew on his stomach, applying pressure to his ribs, it was an unfair fight Jim was more than likely to lose, especially with the fact that he was running out of breath. But God, he didn't want to eat that. _Chili con escupitajo. No, I can't. This is too disgusting. I can't do it… I can't breathe. Please, body, fight your instincts, let me pass out, I can't do this… _But when his lungs felt close to exploding, he couldn't anymore and had to open his mouth. He breathed in a few times, and Matthew let him, before putting the spoon into his mouth. "Now, Harry." Harry put his paw over Jim's mouth. Jim struggled again, but at some point he just had to swallow. He had to cough, but Matthew showed no mercy and fed him the second spoon, then the third. The spicy food started to burn his mouth, his throat, his oesophagus… Tears were stinging in his eyes from the pain, sweat was pouring down his body, but Matthew just continued. It was unbearable, and Jim knew pretty well that even when he decided to give them information now, they wouldn't stop. This was pure display of power, not an interrogation. He could see it in Matthew's eyes.

When the plate was empty, Matthew finally stopped, "Well, that was delicious, don't you think? Oh, I see you don't have any water…." He leaned forward, putting pressure on Jim's ribcage. "Don't you dare puking it out. I'll swear I will feed _that_ to you, too, you understand?" Jim nodded only, his throat aching too much to talk. Matthew grinned, "Good boy." He patted his cheek. "You know what would help against this burning inside you? Protein. Now, I don't have milk here, but I know something that's just as good." He ran his finger over Jim's cheek. "You're actually quite a pretty face. Even with those bruises. What do you say, how about a bit of nice, tasty juice?" He saw Jim's reaction and laughed. "As if I would want you to vomit. Come on guys, let's leave." He got up, motioning his friends to do the same.

They left Jim in his corner, coughing and curling up, waiting for the pain to fade. Oh, they were good. Such an efficient plan. This was actually more painful than anything he had gone through before. His insides were burning and he would have given the world for some water now. As he lay there, shivering, he noticed something else. The room, which up until now, had always been rather cold, was now starting to heat up. Normally he would have welcomed it, but right now, he would have preferred the cool concrete. He moved his hand and opened his shirt. It was already damp with sweat. His pants followed. It was not much relief, though. He was frying from inside as well as outside now, and soon he was covered in sweat all over his body. Oh god, and how it hurt. He was sure he wouldn't be able to swallow anything real even in weeks from now. It was brutal. His eyes were tearing from the pain, even his nose was running. He knew it wouldn't be for long, they couldn't risk him dying from dehydration. But whoever was watching him through the mirror would see how he would gulp down the water being offered, and they would know that they had won that round. And Jim hated to lose. Then he remembered the spitting part. That had been the most degrading moment in his life. He hated being spit on. Always had. Now, when that first guy had spat at him, during the waterboarding session, it had been okay, because he had been able to spit it right back. He had not been forced to swallow it down. But now he had. And oh, he hated it. He had never felt more humiliated in his life, and he had suffered a lot at times. This was the moment Jim realized he was entering the final phase of the game. He needed to hold on. He _needed_ to see Mycroft, before they _broke_ him completely. He could handle the pain, but imagining going through many more of these humiliations made his guts churn. And now that they had crossed the line from detached interrogators to men enjoying humiliating him, Jim knew his time was running out.

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><p>They went straight to the break room, rewarding themselves with a nice latte macchiato and joining Nancy at the sole table. Joel grinned when he poured the milk into the cups, "I'll bet the Irish shit would give the world for a bit of milk now."<p>

"Probably. But that was a good idea you had with the chilli, Nancy."

Nancy smiled, "I am fabulous. So, any new information?"

Matthew shook his head, "Nope. But I guess he isn't able to talk right now anyways."

"Definitely not." Joel said. Then he looked Matthew in the eyes, "How did he react?"

Matthew grinned, "It was barely noticeable. But I could see it in his eyes. He was afraid for just a split second. He thought we would do it."

"Do what?" Nancy asked.

Matthew grinned, "This is no conversation to be held in front of a lady."

Nancy shrugged, "Okay. I have to leave now, anyways. See you later."

When she had left, Harry asked, "Are you really going to do this?"

Matthew sighed, "I don't want to. There's a difference between threatening somebody with it, and really doing it. Most men would have chickened out by now, he didn't. I think we have to, if we really want this code."

Joel looked more than uneasy, "Really? This is brutal. If people find out…"

But Christian interrupted him, "Come on, that's not really the thing you share with your loved ones. Especially not as a man. And he prides himself on being a man. Besides, even if it did come out, who will believe him? He's a fucking criminal. If we send him to jail, it will happen, too."

"But there's a difference between jail and government…." Joel said.

Matthew whispered, "Well, then we got to do this without the government." All eyes were on him now. Matthew looked up, "This man allegedly has a key code that could get him into any system in this world. Rumour has it that terrorist cells are competing for it. I have a family, and my youngest said her first word on the day we brought him in. My wife worries every day when I go to work; won't sleep till I am at home. And then she hugs me and tells me she couldn't live without me. I don't want this maniac to destroy this. I will get answers. And if that's the way to do it, I will not hesitate. And what the Government doesn't know…"

Joel frowned, "You want to do this without telling anybody?"

"Precisely so."

"You cannot hide anything from Mycroft Holmes, Matthew. Remember, he sees everything and can tell you your whole life story. He will find out. And then?"

"If Mycroft Holmes did not want this to happen, he would have gone and talked to him by now. No statement is a statement in this case. I will protect my family at all costs." Matthew got up. "I'll go home now. Treat my princess to dinner. Tomorrow, I will tell you what I do. I don't expect any of you to be part of this. But remember, you have families, too."

Joel watched him leaving the room, "My wife's pregnant." The rest looked back at him. "I know; I don't like it either. But Matthew's right. We've done many bad things together. This could be the worst thing we ever do, but if we manage to save the world, who cares? What do you say; we help Matthew? Leave the big bosses out of this?"

Nobody spoke, but the looks he was getting were enough of a confirmation.

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><p><strong>If you want warnings for the next chapter, mention it in your review. I still don't feel too good about the "no warnings" thing.<br>**


	10. turned into a really sticky situation

**Okay, the majority has spoken, and no one cares really about the warning thing. Now, since one of you actually said that the warnings tell them whether or not they can read the story, and that's much more important to me than the spoiler risk, I'mma keep it up. Thanks for your input, and of course for all your reviews. **

**Disclaimer: See chapter one and Chapter Nine for the song.**

**Warnings: Well, if you read the last chapter, you'll know what will happen, so...  
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><p><strong>Chapter Ten: ... turned into a really sticky situation<strong>

They came for him the next morning. Jim had been awaiting them. It had dawned on him later, after a bottle of really cold water that felt like heaven on earth, that he had completely banned it from his head. The comment Matthew had made. Of course, Jim had understood the underlying threat. But with pain all over his body and trouble to breath and coughing up, he hadn't been able to control his face, and, for a split second only, had shown fear. When he had realized it, later, that his eyes had given him away, and that Matthew must have noticed it, he knew they would come for him. He had time though, time to prepare. Well, as much as you could prepare. Which was surprisingly little. The only thing he could do was decide on what he would do. There were three possibilities he could think of. Number One, spare himself from this act of degradation and give them the information. But, no, _that_ was definitely out of the question. He wouldn't do that. He wanted Mycroft Holmes. Number Two, he had a black belt. He could defend himself. He could go down fighting. The problem was, he would go down, and if he angered them too much it would only fall back on him, and they would hurt him. More than they would anyways. The third option was to do what he had done every time so far: just take it. With a smile, if he could. He wished Sebastian was here. Nobody would come past Sebastian. But he wasn't here, and he would be surprised if Sebastian had started looking for him; after all, Jim had made sure he wouldn't. Or, done his best to make sure. What went on in Sebastian's stubborn head was a different thing, but he knew Seb wouldn't find him here, much less burst in and save him at the last minute. This wasn't _Sex and the City_ after all, where Mr Big had threatened to slap the Russian, had taken Carrie home and they had lived happily ever after… why did he know such things? He got up from the floor and paced through the room, trying to brace himself for what was awaiting him. Tried to think of anything that could get him out of this situation.

But when the door opened, and he saw them entering, he put on his bravest smile and said, "Now, ladies, one at a time, please."

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><p>They left him on the floor when they were done. Not once had he screamed out, not once had he shown he was bothered, no tears had run down his cheeks. The only traces of what had happened were the sperm all over his body and the blood on the floor. Come to think about, he had done rather well. Being borderline insane- or in his case, borderline sane- had some advantages after all. There were enough thoughts and torture methods swirling through his head so that he could blank out the abuse that was taking place. He only had to focus when they wanted him to do something, and, well, he had done what was asked of him. Not showing any emotions. He would have time to deal with later, when he was out, with Sebastian close, the only man who would understand him and take revenge in a way those bastards wouldn't even dream of. Right now, he had to put on a brave face. And as he was lying there, smelling like other men, he knew Sebastian would avenge him. And oh, did he look forward to witnessing it. It would be the first thing, after healing, of course, he would do once he was out. Send Sebastian. But right now, he had to focus, forget this… inconvenience, and focus. He still wanted to get to Mycroft. And he needed to. This could not have been in vain. All this pain and humiliation, it just had to lead to something.<p>

The door opened. It was Nancy. She was carrying the usual tray, stodge and no spoon. She put it down at his feet and looked at him, scanning his body. "No sex talk today? Funny though. I remember the first time I was here, you told me you could stick your cock between my legs, thrust up to four times, and I would have a hard time getting over it. Well, I think the tables have been turned now, haven't they? How long will it take you to get over this? Being violated by five men… No, no, STOP!"

Jim, like a cat, had jumped onto her, ignoring the pain in his lower regions and had wrestled her down within seconds, "You think I am broken? Well, forget that, lady. I can still get it up, and believe me, you will feel that now." He had no intention of doing it. Still not. But he could at least, until someone came in, give her a good fright, pay them back for what they had done to him. He ripped her blouse open, breaking her necklace in the process, and hissed, "I hope you will enjoy it just as much as I will."

The door flung open again and he was pulled off her, received a few punches in the face and was slammedhard against the wall, before Christian help Nancy stand up and guided the sobbing woman outside.

Jim chuckled; now, that brave face had dropped quite fast. He looked down at the floor and picked up one of the diamonds from the destroyed necklace. Wow, there was somebody who loved her! This diamond, even to Jim's tired eyes, was absolute perfection. He smiled. If he could hide that one, he would offer it to Sebastian. Or Sherlock, maybe. Sherlock… He looked at the diamond in his hand, then at the mirror. And his smile came back. Oh, he would get Mycroft. It would have been worth it. He got up and limped over to the mirror. Or, he tried to. His legs were giving in, and he had to steady himself on the wall. Well, the wall would do. For starters. He held the diamond between his index and thumb and started scratching the wall. He was an idiot. Mrs York had worn the necklace on the first day she had entered the cell. He could have ended this much sooner. But it would end now. He had hit rock bottom. And from there, there was only one direction in which he could go. Back up.

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><p>Mycroft was sitting in his favourite chair at the <em>Diogenes Club <em>when he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He was hoping for an answer from Sherlock. Apparently his younger brother had managed to sneak into Baskerville, with _his_ ID. Lord knew how he had done that, but Mycroft had learned early enough that the door that could stop Sherlock had yet to be invented. Actually Mycroft was planning on inventing it. But this text didn't come from Sherlock. It was from Joel.

_Situation. You need to come. – JJ_

Mycroft knew it was something serious. Joel, or any other of the guys for that matter, would never tell him to come unless it was absolutely necessary. If they had killed Moriarty now… He grinded his teeth and got up.

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><p>Within half an hour, he arrived. Joel was waiting for him, "Sir, we…"<p>

"What happened? Did he die?"

"No, sir, he's fine. He… he did something. When Nancy entered yesterday, with the food, he attacked her. Don't worry, she's fine. Shaken, a bit, I'm sure, but she's tough. She'll get over it. Well, during the fight her diamond necklace broke. She only noticed when she was at home that it was gone. Moriarty has apparently used one of the diamonds to… scratch something on the walls of his cell."

"What did he scratch, then?" Mycroft was impatient.

"Sherlock." Joel responded. "All over the cell. On the mirror."

Mycroft's face remained calm as he said, "Get him to the showers. Give him something good to eat. Something to drink. Tell him I will meet him in two hours. Prepare the room." He then dismissed Joel and went into the room he used to watch Jim from. Joel hadn't overreacted when he had said 'all over the cell'. His brother's name flashed at Mycroft from every possible angle. The most catching though was the one Moriarty had apparently scratched into the mirror- mirror writing even, so that Mycroft could read it. It wasn't so much something Moriarty had done to pass time; he was calling Mycroft. He could as well have scribbled his phone number on the mirror with the words CALL ME and a smiley face; it would have had the same effect. Well, no. Mycroft didn't react to smiley faces. But he reacted to this. This was a threat at Sherlock. Moriarty was not a 14-year-old girl writing Justin Bieber's name all over the walls of her bedroom. Moriarty was a criminal, and apparently he was obsessed with Sherlock, which was as good as a threat. Mycroft had been okay with it so far; after all, his brother was a grown-up, and he could defend himself. Plus, he had John, and while Mycroft still wasn't too sure about the status of his brother's relationship to John, he was dead sure that John could and would watch over Sherlock. He was quite bad-ass. Well, it had been the case until now, because, until now, James Moriarty was just some criminal who happened to like giving Sherlock some extra work. But now… Mycroft ran his fingers over the letters. James Moriarty seemed to harbour a rather unhealthy obsession with the two brothers. And if there was one thing Mycroft didn't like, it was people having an obsession with his brother _and_ a magic key code. Although, he really did not need that code to enter Baker Street. Mycroft turned away from the mirror and sat down. He felt a migraine coming. The second this month. The first had come when Moriarty had written him the Bond Air text. And now, he was in for the second, again caused by Moriarty. He should really get rid of this man.

Now, he watched as Joel entered the cell and spoke to Moriarty. Moriarty got up and walked… no limped, towards the door. _Limping. He's hurt. Why would he be hurt? He doesn't accept Joel's hand, yet he's limping. Something has happened here. _Mycroft moaned and messaged his temples. He hated not being informed on things that happened here. Or, asked for permission. He was not an idiot; he knew what had happened to Moriarty, and he didn't like it the least bit. That was just something you didn't do to other people. He knew it happened in prison on a daily basis, but this was not prison, and he didn't want things like these to happen here. He would have to talk to Joel and Matthew. Oh God, this day was getting worse by the minute. He needed vacation. He checked his watch. One hour and 52 minutes till the interview. He needed to get prepared.

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><p><strong>I actually didn't want to go down that route, it has been done before by people who are much better writers than I am, but you all waited for Jim to break, and, well, I guess this is the one thing that would bring him closest. Hope I didn't disappoint anyone. And, this chapter has not been BETA'ed, so any mistakes are mine. :)<strong>


	11. How it feel down there on your knees?

**Sorry for the longer wait. Real life wanted me to write a few nice articles. Besides, I have serious trouble writing Mycroft, I hope he's not too OoC. Anyways, on with the story**

**Disclaimer: See chapter one, plus, title of this chapter taken from Rihanna's _G4L_. No profit made.  
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><p><strong>Chapter Eleven: <strong>**How it feel down there on your knees?**

Mycroft entered the interrogation room, which really wasn't much different from the cell they had kept Moriarty in so far. Moriarty was sitting on the chair in the middle of the room, hands handcuffed behind his back. They had brought him rice and chicken, which he had refused to touch, and water, which he had downed in one go. Then they had brought him to the showers, where he had just quickly washed his hair and body before putting on new clothes. Since then, he had been sitting here on the chair, shifting his weight every now and then. But as soon as Mycroft opened the door, the man on the chair straightened up, and even though Mycroft couldn't see the face, he was sure James Moriarty was smiling.

Mycroft had long thought about how to play this. He had decided to try and be the nice guy. Violence got them nowhere. He walked to the other side of the room, into Moriarty's vision. He was mildly shocked as to how a month of captivity had changed the man. His body showed clear signs of malnourishment; his cheeks were cavernous, but the dark eyes were bigger than ever. And they hadn't lost their glint.

"Mr Holmes. Glad you decided to have a little chat with me." Jim's voice was barely audible, coarse, and he had to swallow a few times during the little sentence, but it didn't take the threatening edge off his voice. "I was getting rather… impatient."

Mycroft leaned against the wall, "I understand you wanted to see me. I am a busy man, and have to come up with new plans since the last ones were… well, discovered."

A smirk appeared on Jim's face, "Oh, yeah, that. Did I give you a little fright with my text message? Sorry. Didn't mean to."

"Of course you didn't. So… what did you want to tell me?"

Now Jim grinned widely, "Ah, this is not how it works, Iceman, is it? I haven't been through all of this just to spill the beans now. I want something in return."

"The Government doesn't negotiate with terrorists, Mr Moriarty."

"Oh, please, I'm not a terrorist." Jim seemed offended. "Believe me, if I had any hatred towards this country, I'd have blown it to pieces a long time ago. After all, I've been living with the nickname 'Irish shit' all my life. No, Mr Holmes, if I wanted this country down, you would be ashes by now. I'm not a terrorist."

"We also don't negotiate with ordinary criminals."

"I'm not an ordinary criminal either, Mycroft. Would I have a key code if I was?"

Now it was Mycroft's turn to smile, "So, it does exist."

"Maybe, maybe not."

"If you have it, why are you still here? You could have gotten out of this building."

"Maybe I didn't want to? I loved having Mrs York around. Such a beautiful woman. Ordinary of course. She got nothing on Ms Adler. But well, it's not like there's much choice here."

Mycroft fell the headaches growing stronger, "I really don't have time for this. Tell me what you know, or I'll send Matthew and his men back in."

Jim, for only a split second, let his exhaustion show, "And do what to me? What else could they possibly do to me?" He cleared his throat; talking was difficult. "But I agree that time is precious and I've wasted enough of mine already. My people will soon start worrying; even I don't go on vacation for more than a month, usually."

Mycroft looked up from his shoes he had examined with faked boredom, "You knew we were coming?"

"Of course. Did you really think you could capture me if I didn't want to? Nobody can make me do things I don't want to. You have no idea who I am, obviously." He sighed. "Aw well. Now, I tell you how this is going to work. We will exchange information. You answer my questions, I will answer yours."

"I told you we don't negotiate with… people like you."

Jim sat up straight, ignoring the pain it caused him. "Do you really want to risk this, Mycroft? Risk a worldwide chaos? Just because you don't want to talk to me? All I want is a bit of information on your brother. Nothing vital, just teensy bits. You'll get much more than I do."

"And why would you agree on a deal like this if you know you lose?" Mycroft asked.

Jim pretended to think about this, "I am intrigued by Sherlock. You must know how I feel. All those ordinary people, all stupid, you can't have decent conversations with them, because they don't see what you see… Well, no, you don't, obviously, because you had Sherlock. I had nobody."

"Your father was a professor at a university. He must have been quite intelligent."

"Oh please. He was good at what he did, but that was it. Never was interested in anything else than mathematics. You don't need to be intelligent to do that. And he didn't understand people. Couldn't see what we see." Jim rocked left and right on his chair, "Now, Sherlock and you, and I, we are different. We see everything. You saw what happened to me. I could foresee that you would come to see me after the little artwork I made in my cell for you. Don't worry, Mycroft. What bad can happen? You tell me what it was like growing up with a person that matched your intellect, and I tell you about the key code. It's as easy as that."

Mycroft watched Jim. He seemed unaffected by the traumatising experience he had suffered. Given that he was in physical pain, and that talking seemed to tire him, but he wasn't broken. And Mycroft was pretty sure that if he hadn't broken by now, it would never happen. There was nothing they could do anymore. But Mycroft didn't want to be the last hope. Not at the cost of talking about his brother. What could he tell Moriarty? That Sherlock had always been considered a freak by the other children? That he had never had anything close to a relationship with a woman? No, Moriarty knew that already. _The Virgin_. So, he had that information. And he hadn't done anything with it yet. He couldn't have known that Irene Adler would tell them about the nicknames. Moriarty was right; what could happen? The man would laugh about Sherlock, maybe taunt him a bit about it, even. That was nothing new for Sherlock; hell, even Mycroft taunted him about it. And, if Moriarty taunted him so much that Sherlock would snap and attack him… no harm done. Mycroft went through all possible scenarios in his head, but nothing he could think of seriously alarmed him.

So he said, "Okay. But I start. Have you used the key code already?"

"Nope."

"Then how do we know it exists?"

Jim grinned, "It's my turn to ask a question. When did you first notice Sherlock was a genius?"

Mycroft messaged his temples again. This was going to be a long night.

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><p>And many more of those nights followed. Moriarty answered his questions without hesitations, but Mycroft wasn't too sure he could do much with the information he had. But Moriarty couldn't do much with what Mycroft told him, either. Two weeks on, Mycroft had extracted as much information as he could. He had understood the concept of the key code, how it worked, how it was created. But Moriarty had not told him anything about how <em>he <em>intended to use it. He had told him about people that were interested in the code, which was already more than Mycroft had hoped for.

After another two weeks, Mycroft was faced with a decision. He knew there was nothing more he could get out of the man. Now, there was the question what to do with him: put him in prison, set him free, or… dispose of him. Jail was not really an option. Not only because Mycroft figured that a simple holding cell could stop James Moriarty, but also because it made them a target. The press would get wind of it; they always did. And people would find out: not only Moriarty's men, but also those people that wanted the key code. And they would go every mile to get the man out of jail. Killing him, however…. It had a certain appeal. The greatest criminal ever, wiped off the face of the earth for good. It really was Mycroft's favourite option. Yet… would it do the trick? Mycroft had no idea what Moriarty had told his people about the code. If there was anybody among these men and women who could use the key, Moriarty's death would be in vain. And there was an even bigger risk: They knew Moriarty, but they didn't know any of his associates. There was a rumour Sebastian Moran, the United Kingdom's best sniper, was working for him, but nothing was known about Moran's whereabouts since his dishonourable discharge from army, or whether he and Moriarty had even met. It had taken them quite some time to find out about Moriarty; if they had to start from scratch to find the second-in-command, they would be wasting precious time during which said person could wreak havoc on the world. Moriarty however was known to the Government, they could keep an eye on him, he was a constant. Mycroft sighed; they had to let him go. His hands were bound. So, he made the necessary calls and then went to see the guard who was watching the criminal. He had a bad feeling about this.

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><p><strong>So yeah. I hope it wasn't too bad. Lemme know.<strong>


	12. There's a thing that they can't touch

**Yes, public, Jim is back on the streets :o) Nothing more to say apart from a HUGE Thank You for all of your reviews. **

**Disclaimer: See chapter one, plus, title from this chapter taken from T.a.t.u.'s _All about us_.  
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><p><strong>Chapter Twelve: There's a thing that they can't touch<strong>

Sebastian Moran was not an idiot. People thought because he was tall and muscular, because his language wasn't as refined as other people's, because he didn't dress like a businessman, that he had no brains. But that was bullshit. James Moriarty would never hire an idiot and make the idiot chief of staff. In contrast to his boss however, Sebastian kept a low profile, rarely talked to other people in meetings, just so they would underestimate him, and then pay the price. But since Sebastian Moran was a smart kid, he knew something was up when, even after a month, he hadn't heard anything from his boss. He had started making inquiries, trying to figure out where Jim had last been seen. He had done pretty well. He had talked to some people he knew from his time as a junkie and gambler, right before Jim had hired him, and one of them had told him that he had heard about a guy who had been talking to some very fishy people in suits, and then gotten into a car. All happened next to Big Ben, which gave Sebastian his next lead: There was an on-and-off Hunger Strike thing quite opposite Big Ben. When he went there to show the people Jim's picture, one guy told him that it had in fact been him who had been led to a car with tinted windows. The moment Sebastian had heard that, he had known his boss was in trouble. He had tried everything to find out where Jim was, and the fact that he didn't find out anything made him realize it had most possibly been the government who had taken care of it. Which meant that there was no way Sebastian could help Jim. All he could do was to ensure that the empire was running. But he didn't like it the least bit, being helpless.

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><p>And then one night, he was at Jim's place, going over some papers, when the door opened. It didn't take Sebastian more than a second to aim his gun at the door, ready to shoot anyone who would come in. He was more than surprised when it was in fact Jim who entered the office. Or at least, he guessed it was Jim: that skinny bloke with the greasy black hair, dressed in plain white clothes and limping had nothing in common with the Jim Moriarty he had seen the last time the two had met. Only a look into those big brown eyes confirmed that this was in fact his boss staggering into the office.<p>

And the voice, "Sebastian. Figured you were here."

Sebastian got up from the chair, "Work needs to be done, boss. You've been gone quite some time."

"Really? How long?"

"Almost two months. Had a nice stay with the government, I suppose?"

Jim smiled mildly, "Can't hide anything from you. How did you find out?"

"Research. I asked some people." Sebastian let his eyes rest on Jim's face, "You look like crap, boss."

"You should have seen me after I was kept in isolation for three weeks. Actually I think I look quite okay again."

"If you say so… Do you want me to fill you in on what has happened?"

"Later. Let me take a shower first, please." Jim rubbed his eyes. "And can you order something to eat? I'm starving."

"Sure. Any preferences?"

"Anything but chilli. In fact, nothing too spicy. Pizza." Jim limped to the bathroom. "And Sebastian?"

"Yes, boss?"

"Thank you."

Sebastian gave Jim a weak smile, "Of course, boss."

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><p>Two hours later, Jim came out of the bathroom again, fully dressed. Sebastian thought it was pretty weird. Normally, Jim would only wrap a towel around his waist, being much too busy with whatever was going on in his odd brain to properly dress. Now, he was wearing tracksuit trousers and a sweater.<p>

With a sigh, he sat down on the couch next to Sebastian, "It's good to be back. What did I miss?"

"Holmes and Watson were off to Dartmoor. Little vacation I suppose. They are back again, though. I prepared the lock at their door, so, whenever you're feeling well enough to go and do the video, everything's ready."

"Let's do it tomorrow. Is somebody watching the house?"

"Sure." Sebastian looked at Jim. "Are you sure you're up to this already? You could sit back, rest for a few days. I'm sure it wasn't all fun and games where you were. You lost at least ten pounds."

Jim rolled his eyes, "Don't worry, Sebastian, I am alright."

"Your finger says otherwise." Sebastian knew the ice he was walking on was very thin. Jim could be terrifying when he was angry. And Sebastian saying things like this were more than likely to make Jim angry. But Sebastian, who had seen what the Government could do to people, who had _done_ things to people, needed to make sure Jim was alright. Especially in a case where the victim- oh God, he hated to think of his boss as a victim- was already pretty insane before the _treatment _started. Jim could be anywhere now from suicidal to I'm-gonna-build-a-fucking-atomic-bomb. During the years Sebastian had worked for Jim, he had learned how to look beneath the surface. And even though Jim didn't look affected or hurt, Sebastian could just _feel_ the difference.

And the fact that Jim just looked at his finger and didn't snap at him confirmed it, "Oh yeah, that. I might need to see a doctor about that. Seems like it's grown back together all wrong."

"I'll make the necessary calls. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Jim shook his head, "No. Just… stay here. I don't want to be alone right now." He mentally slapped himself for saying that. But it was the truth. He couldn't be alone right now. He needed something to get his mind off the… _assault_.

"Sure thing. I don't have anywhere to be now." Sebastian knew the next question was probably going to get him killed. "Do you want to talk about what happened?"

Jim rubbed his eyes tiredly, "Not really, no. It's not really a bed-time story. At least not for us. I'm sure the other people involved will tell their children and grandchildren about it." His voice suddenly sounded much darker.

Sebastian nodded absent-mindedly, "You know I wouldn't think any less of you if you told me, right? Every person has their pressure point. You told me so yourself. And, you are still human. Jim, I have been there, I know what they do to people. You hired me because breaking people is what I do best. There is nothing they could have done that I haven't heard of. I don't want to push you, but…" He shrugged, "I just want you to know I am there, if you need me. And if not, I'll still be there."

Jim sighed, "Sebastian, I do appreciate your concern, but I have to tell you I'm this close to cutting your tongue out and having it for breakfast. What do you want me to tell you? I have been through hell this past two months, yes. But it's not like I can't cope with it on my own."

"Only two minutes ago you told me you don't want to be alone." Sebastian replied calmly.

"Oh, you're so clever. Okay, what do you want to know? I was kept in isolation, I was beaten, I was fed chili with spit, if they didn't starve me or fed me some… whatever that was. I had to go through a pretty tame waterboarding session, and I should have enjoyed it, because I didn't shower for the whole time until Mycroft Holmes took over. I will probably have to go to the dentist because my molar is loose, and you know I hate dentists. I had to look at myself in a mirror after they finally got me out of the isolation cell, and I tell you, if you think I look like shit now, you should have seen me then. And because that wasn't nearly enough to break me, they did the one thing I always forbade you to do to anybody. I had to keep my brave face up, but I am telling you, I'm closer to the edge than ever before."

Sebastian had to let it sink in. The words might have sounded matter-of-factly, but the hatred in Jim's eyes told the truth. He had seen Jim angry before, which alone was quite scary. But this here, this was absolutely terrifying. Sebastian was sure many grown men would start begging for their lives if Jim looked at them like that. The fact that Jim, who was normally, apart from the crazy outbursts, all cool with no feelings peeking through his façade, was able to feel hatred like that told Sebastian everything he needed to know.

So, he nodded, "I understand. When do you want me to kill them?"

"This time, dear Sebastian, I will get my own hands dirty." He looked at Sebastian, "Give me a week. I need to make the necessary arrangements."

"Alright. But save me a piece of them."

Jim, out of nowhere, smiled, "There's six of them. I think it's enough for both of us."

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><p>Jim found it hard to find sleep that night. He didn't even have to look out of the window to know that Sebastian, whom he had send away after dinner, was standing in front of his door, gun in his hand, ready to shoot anybody who would dare to come after Jim. Bless him. But Jim couldn't think of him now. So he just stared at the ceiling, trying to figure out how he felt. It had been at least twenty years since he had last felt like that. Powerless, helpless. He knew he wasn't; tomorrow, he would start planning his revenge, and it would be good. But right now, with nothing to do but think of what had happened to him, he felt… vulnerable. Of course he had known from the start it would be bad. Actually, the rape hadn't shocked him that much: it had been the logical consequence of his attitude. What shocked him… no, shook him, to the core, was how he felt about it. Of course he knew that rape wasn't something people could easily cope with. But he wasn't people. He knew most people would have cracked long before him. He could handle pain, he had experienced pain throughout his life, and he could live with it. To him, anything that couldn't destroy his mind wasn't that bad. What he hadn't expected though was the effect the rape had on his mind. The assault, he could live with. But the feelings he had had while it happened, utter powerlessness and the feeling that he didn't own his body anymore… He closed his eyes. He needed that revenge before he could go any further with his plans of burning Sherlock.<p>

So he jumped out of bed again, put on his best suit, opened the window and yelled, "Bastian? Changed my mind. Get ready."

"Yes, boss."

Jim closed the window again and smiled. Sebastian was a darling. If this ended badly, the whole Sherlock business, Jim had to make sure nothing would happen to Sebastian. Send him to a place where drinks were cheap and girls were pretty and where he could spend the rest of his life enjoying himself. That much he owed to his most faithful soldier. He had never found out why Sebastian was so loyal to him, but he had a pretty good idea why he himself would destroy anybody that laid a hand on Sebastian.

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><p><strong>Aw, Sebastian is so cute. Now, I hope Jim isn't too OoC. It's hard writing a thing<strong> **like this, coz, I know you all want to have those special bromance moments with Sebastian, and yes, I do want them too, but I cannot see Jim crying on Seb's shoulder, soooo... Anyways, likey? **


	13. God bless the man that I have scorned

**And a new chapter for you all. By the way, if you feel like it, check out a story called _Dear Diary, _by a writer called Zeiloo. Very good. Leave them some review love. And me :o)  
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**Disclaimer: see chapter one, plus, title from this chapter taken from Christina Aguilera's _Mercy on Me_. No profit made.**

**Warnings: Well, Jim is taking revenge, so, I guess you can imagine what will follow. More or less.  
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><p><strong>Chapter 13: God bless the man that I have scorned<strong>

Nancy York was the first one on Jim's list. It had only taken him a little research to find out the woman's first name. Sebastian had found her in a matter of hours and brought her to the basement of Jim's house in the country. Nobody would hear her scream.

When Nancy woke up from the blackness that had hit her suddenly, she found herself bound to a pole in the middle of a cellar. She was on her knees, with her hands and feet tied to the pole as well as a cord around her neck that fixed her head to it. The cord was tight; breathing proved difficult. She looked around. Nothing was there. Nothing but the tall blonde man watching her. She recognized him. He had been sitting in the train next to her, reading _Men's Health_ and listening to his Ipod. Both had gotten out at Clapham Junction. And then- nothing. Her head hurt. He must have knocked her out. She felt panic coming over her. He must have been one of those perverted people, who kept women as slaves in their basement. _This can't be happening. _

Now, the man smiled, "Nancy York. Pleasure to meet you. My name is Sebastian Moran, and I will be your host for tonight."

Nancy did her best to sound brave when she asked, "What do you want from me?"

Sebastian tilted his head, "What can you offer me?"

"Money."

"Is that all? I don't need money. Look at my suit." He cocked an eyebrow. "Is that all?"

Nancy had to admit it was. She had nothing else to offer. "I… I… That's all." She lowered her gaze. "Please, don't hurt me. I have a family."

"Is that so?" Sebastian sighed. "I have no family. Well, I do. But I got disowned."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Nancy muttered. "Why?"

"Dishonourable discharge from army. I… had special ways of interrogating people, which some people thought were… out of line. But don't worry. I got myself a pretty good alternative to family. A good friend."

Nancy had no idea what the man was up to, but she had dealt with a lot people, and she had found out that some killers- and she was sure the man opposite her had killed people- found it hard to murder someone if there was some sort of a personal connection established. And she knew right now that was the only thing she could do. "Friends are good. I have friends too."

"Oh, yeah, I know. Joel Johnson, Harry Cooper, Matthew Durkan, Joshua Taylor and Christian Carlisle, right?"

"How do you…?"

"Research. Great bunch of people, I hear. Stick together no matter what. I have a friend like that, too. I'd do anything for him. I'd even go as far as die for him."

Nancy felt less at ease with every word the man uttered, "That's… loyal. I'm sure he's a lucky man."

"Not lately, no. Been through a bit of a rough time. But I'll fix that." Sebastian licked his lips, got up from the chair and moved towards her. He sat down in front of her and caressed her cheek.

She flinched, but couldn't shy away from the touch due to the cord around her neck. "Please… don't."

"Don't what?" Sebastian run his hand over her top, down to her skirt, letting his fingers wander over her knee. Finally he slid his hand under the skirt. "Do you want me to stop?"

"Please…" She could feel the first tears dwelling up in her eyes. "Please, I beg you…."

"You know what? I won't do it. I might let somebody else do, it though… What do you say, boss?"

Nancy's eyes darted to the corner of the room that was in complete darkness when she saw a movement. And then she screamed.

Jim stepped out of the shadows. He was wearing a black suit, white shirt, tie. Hands in his pockets, he walked over to Nancy, still limping a bit. "Hullo, Mrs York. Do you remember me?"

Tears were now flowing over her cheeks, and she was shaking, "No. Not you. Not you. No. Please not."

"Oh, are you scared? I'm sorry I frightened you." He remained standing next to Sebastian. "But remember, I told you I look quite dashing in a suit. Even if I have to admit it fitted me better before I was _starved_. Don't you think I look good?"

She was now sobbing, "Please… please… Oh my God…."

Jim rolled his eyes, "Get a grip on yourself, damn it. You were much more fun when you thought you were superior to me. But well, I guess being at the complete mercy of another person shows the true strength of character. Sebastian, would you mind taking your hand away from there?" Sebastian did. "Thank you. Now, Mrs York… I gave you already a taste of what I am capable of. Christian barged in and interrupted us…"

"No… no… please not, please don't do this to me…."

Jim shooed Sebastian away and took his place, looking straight into Nancy's eyes, "Did you tell your friends that? Did you say, 'Please, don't do this to him' when they planned on raping me?" She shook her head. "Why? Because it didn't matter to you, right?" She nodded. "Are you worried? About what it will be like, living with this shame?" Again, she nodded. "Did you ever, for a split second, think about what it would be like for me? Did you try to stop them?" She shook her head, now weeping. "At least you're honest." He now proceeded to slide his hand under her skirt, ignoring the wailing that it elicited. "Are you regretting it? That you insulted me? Said I was disgusting?" She nodded again. "And you still feel the same about me? Oh, how I would love to pound you, knowing I repel you so much. It would give me real satisfaction." His hand moved closer to her panties. "What do you say; shall we just get over with it?" His fingers were only an inch away now. "You know what?" Half an inch. "I won't do it. Just because I can." He brushed her thigh, just slightly, when he brought his hand back and stood up again. Nancy had a crying fit now, screaming hysterically. Jim walked back to the corner where he had been hiding earlier, passing Sebastian, who had waited patiently, leaning against the wall. "Are you still interested, Seb?"

Sebastian shook his head, "I don't like the begging type. Unless she would be begging for me, of course."

"You could try and make her beg for you."

Sebastian grinned, "Nah, really not. Look at her. Pathetic."

"Agree." Jim turned his head, watching the sobbing figure one last time. "Make it hurt, Sebastian. Make her scream for me."

"I'll make her sing for you, boss."

"And make sure the face remains flawless. I want to send her head to someone special."

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><p>Jim remained in his armchair for the whole session. He watched indifferently how Sebastian made Nancy scream, all the while whistling <em>Twisted Nerve<em>. That alone was quite unnerving for Nancy. She screamed, she begged him to stop. But Sebastian just shook his head and continued, acting like it was the most natural thing in the world. Jim had to admit that watching Sebastian work was like a masterpiece the greatest painters in the world couldn't have created. He moved with the grace of a tiger and attacked with the ferocity of one. At some point, Nancy was just hanging in her bonds, too exhausted to even cry, her nice dress covered in crimson blood.

Sebastian knew they only had a few more minutes. So he got up, walked over to Jim and held out a knife to him. "She's all yours, Jim."

Jim took the knife from him, "Thank you, Sebastian. You've been great." He looked at the knife and walked over to Nancy. There he knelt down and murmured, "Any last words? Something you want to tell your husband and children? I'll be sure to deliver them. Along with your head."

She sobbed, her voice barely audible, "Please… don't…."

"Okay, I'll put that on the note. Last words to the family, 'Please don't '."

"I love them."

He smiled, "Much better. Try to not contort your face too much. We don't want Cassie, Myra and George to see how you suffered." He brought his lips close to her ears. "Don't worry, you're not going to be alone for a long time. Your friends will follow." With that, he rested the knife on her left breast, and drove it into her flesh, slowly. She only squeaked. Jim watched the blood flowing from the new wound. Watching life leaving the body of Nancy York. He had to swallow. She had laughed at him, had tried her best to make him feel bad. He had stopped her laughing. Just like he had done with Carl Powers. Nobody would ever laugh at him again.

He left the knife sticking in her heart when he got up again. "One down. Sebastian, I will leave the next four to you. I'm busy making plans. Once you get Matthew though, I want you to bring him here and call me."

"Of course, boss." Sebastian looked at him. "Do you feel better now? At least a bit?"

Jim shook his head, "No. I imagined it would be more satisfying. I guess revenge isn't everything. Revenge cannot wipe away scars." He shrugged, "Oh well. Doesn't mean I'm not going to take revenge, though. Make sure the head is delivered to the Yorks as long as it's still fresh."

"Of course. I'll be in touch." Jim gave him a smile and left the cellar. Sebastian watched him walk away and sighed. He had hoped that killing Nancy York and tormenting her family would be enough to put his boss back on the right track. But as much as Jim was trying to hide it, the things he had suffered through had affected him. The whole pain lay deep beneath the cold surface, and a simple torture session could not make the pain go away. Sebastian walked over to his travel bag, rummaged through it and brought out a saw. He hoped that, when it was finally Matthew's turn to die, Jim would finally feel better. Sebastian would hurry up, killing the other four. He couldn't watch Jim suffer like this anymore.

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><p><strong>Ashes, Ashes, all fall down... <strong>


	14. He's more than a man

**And, here we go, another nice chapter for you nice people.**

Disclaimer: See chapter one, plus, the title of this chapter is from RIhanna's _Unfaithful. _

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><p><strong>Chapter 14: He's more than a man<strong>

Sebastian thought he had earned himself a raise. Within three days, he had killed Christian, Harry, Joshua and Joel, even managing taking his time to properly torture them before sending them to hell. Especially with Joel, he had taken his sweet time, knowing that this guy had been one of the leaders. He had tortured him not only for fun, but also for information on what they had done to Jim. And Joel had caved in easily. He had spilled everything, in the most colourful details, just to save his sorry ass from dying. Of course, Sebastian had killed him, nevertheless. Slit his throat. And then he had gone outside, lit up a cigarette, and shed a few tears. He did what Jim couldn't do.

But the moment he had knocked out Matthew Durkan, he felt better again. Matthew Durkan, the one who had initiated the rape. No wonder Jim wanted him for the great finale. Sebastian had to hold himself back or he would have beaten the man to death right there and now. Instead, he brought him back to the country house and called Jim. Then he prepared Durkan. He strapped him to a table, naked, with arms and legs bound to the four legs of the table. He then watched him while smoking a cigarette. Matthew was in fact quite a handsome man. Brown hair, blue eyes, the build of a swimmer, flawless body. It calmed Sebastian a bit, that, at the very least, the man who had done this to his boss wasn't some disgusting and ugly thug. It didn't change a thing, though. Matthew would still die tonight. And God knew what Jim wanted to do with him before the sweet oblivion of death occurred.

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><p>Jim arrived an hour after Sebastian had called him. Matthew was still out cold. Jim remained standing next to him, just looking, not saying a word. Sebastian watched him, wondering what was going through his mind. But when suddenly Jim's eyes narrowed and filled with hatred, Sebastian knew it. Jim was reliving it, reliving the probably most humiliating hours of his life. Sebastian could see Jim's fingers tightening into a fist, knuckles white. Right hand. The ring finger on his left hand was still damaged, and he couldn't move it properly. Sebastian could see Jim was shaking, but he left him alone. It wasn't the pain that made him shake, it was anger, hatred, and Sebastian knew he shouldn't interrupt that or he would probably end up with a blackened eye. So he just waited patiently, preparing his tools.<p>

Suddenly Jim murmured, "We are amateurs, Sebbie."

"Are we?" Sebastian frowned. "How come?"

"I can't think of nothing that I could do to him that would come even close through what I've suffered."

"We could do to him what he did to you, Jim." Sebastian said. "I volunteer. I will tear this guy's ass apart until his guts come out of it."

Jim sighed, "I appreciate that, Sebastian. But it's not enough. It's not good enough. Nothing we can do to him will ever give me the satisfaction I crave. Nothing will wipe away the pain, the shame…" His eyes were empty when he continued, "This is so frustrating."

"I'm sorry, Jim." Sebastian understood what he meant. "What do you want me to do?"

Jim shrugged, "I don't care. Really, I don't. It won't change a thing. Just… give me the shears."

Sebastian handed them over to him, "What do you want to do? Cut _it_ off?"

Jim shook his head, "No. He would die too soon, and even though I cannot get satisfaction out of killing him, it doesn't mean I will kill him in a heartbeat. No…" He walked around the table. "You know what he said, when he broke my finger? 'So that you will always remember us when you're getting married.' That was their plan. I should always remember them. They wanted me to feel bad. Even on my wedding day, the day that is supposed to be the happiest day in a person's life. They couldn't know I never intended to get married. They just wanted to give me a pang of pain even on that day. I should never be happy again." He walked to the head of the table, where Matthew's left hand was. "He is already married. Nice ring. I think I'll send his wife _this_ finger." And without any hesitation, he placed Matthew's left ring finger between the shears and pushed. The blood oozed freely from the wound, but Jim didn't even react when it sprayed on his trousers and shirt, or when Matthew's unconscious body jerked. He just picked up the finger from the floor and looked at it. "I guess his wife won't think of her marriage the same way again ever." He walked over to a table and placed the finger there. "Now I feel a bit better." He leaned against the table. "You have any ideas? On what to do?"

Sebastian sighed, "A lot. But I have to tell you, they won't bring you any satisfaction, either."

Jim nodded slowly, "I know. Yet, I think it needs to be done. If only so I can make a statement."

Sebastian took care of the wound, and then both waited until Matthew woke up. He stirred at first, but then suddenly started moaning. Jim motioned Sebastian to remain in his armchair, and walked over to the table. "Hullo, Matthew. Remember me?"

Matthew turned his head and rested his eyes on Jim's face. His speech was slurry when he said, "I do."

"Anything you would like to say? Or is the pain too much now?"

Matthew shook his head, "I have nothing to say."

Jim smirked a bit, "Well, I made Nancy York talk. And I heard from my friend Sebastian over there that Joel was very talkative too."

Matthew sighed, "I feared they were dead." Then he looked back at the ceiling. "Well, what do you want me to tell you? That I am sorry for what I've done? I'm not. You are scum, Moriarty. You didn't deserve any better. I wouldn't have done what I did to you if you had talked. But I have a family to protect, and I don't regret a single thing."

Jim leaned against the table, "Yeah, I know. Your wife will get a special present from me. If you haven't noticed by now, you're missing a finger."

Matthew nodded, "I thought so. Let me tell you one thing, Moriarty. You can be happy it was only you. That you have nobody else. We were actually planning on bringing in somebody you love. Never found anybody. So it had to be you. But I tell you, the worst torture is not what you went through. It's seeing somebody you love go through it."

Sebastian had to admit he had a point. He asked, "Do you want me to shut him up, boss?"

Jim shook his head, "No, let him talk. I am intrigued. So, you think it would hurt you more if I brought your wife and children in? Because, really, I can do that. Sebastian here knows where you live. I could play you a tape, let you hear how they scream. Remember, you tried and do that to me."

Matthew looked at him, "This is between you and me, Moriarty. Don't take it out on my family. I beg you."

Jim smiled, "Begging me, are you? You know what? I think I will leave your family alone. Apart from the finger of course, you cannot talk me out of that. My future wife, if I ever happen to find a woman that doesn't feel uncomfortable around me, will see what you have done to my finger, too, so I guess we're even." He tilted his head, "You could thank me for that, you know?"

Matthew bit his lip, but then murmured, "Thank you. I really appreciate that."

Jim patted his cheek, "Yeah, I am nice. But that will not stop me from making you suffer till your last breath. I think you will understand that. After all, I know that was what you wanted to do to me, too, wasn't it? Exactly, when did it stop being an interrogation for you? Because, really, I could see in your eyes that at some point you only wanted to hurt me, even if you pretend you did it all to protect your family."

Matthew seemed to really think about it, "I think when Joel brought you out of the isolation cell. When you crawled into the room, I thought, 'This is it, now we broke him'. But you, you were still cocky, still arrogant. Just exhausted. Even when we showed you your face in the mirror. You were shocked, I could see that. But you didn't cave in, and it was so frustrating. At this point, the only thing I wanted was to break you, shatter you. I think that's when it changed."

Jim nodded, "I see. Well, I didn't. When did you think rape would do the trick, then?"

Sebastian flinched at the word, but Matthew answered, "After the chili incident. Remember when I told you what would help against the pain? Cum? I think for a moment I saw the real 'you' there. You were afraid, weren't you? I saw it. I said it only because I wanted to see your reaction, and you reacted the way I wanted. We agreed we would do it shortly after we left you. And yes, I was the leading man." Then he asked, "Are you going to do it to me, too?"

Jim shook his head, "No. You see, I will kill you tonight. So, it doesn't make sense to rape you, at least not for me. And I don't do things that don't make sense. No, I will not rape you. Can't speak for Sebastian though." He motioned over to Sebastian who was waiting in the corner. "Right now, I just want you to go through so much pain that you will beg for death. And even that won't be enough, if I am honest." He sighed, "Nothing I can do will be enough to properly pay you back for what you have done to me."

Sebastian cleared his throat, "What if you let him live, then?"

Jim frowned, "What do you mean? I never let people live. This is absurd."

"Let's go outside for a second. He won't run away any time soon."

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><p>Outside, Jim leaned against the wall, "Explain yourself."<p>

"You know even his death cannot give you the satisfaction you want. What if you just torture the shit out of him and let him live? So he will spend a lifetime coping with what has happened. I think that is the closest you can come to actual satisfaction." He took a breath, "James, I have to tell you that the man is right. The worst thing you can put a human being through is torturing somebody they love."

"So you tell me to go after his family? You know that's not my line…"

"I know. But think like this. You torture Matthew and let him go. His wife will see what has happened to him. She will hurt. It's what lovers do. He will see that, he will see how what has happened to him will hurt her. And consequently, he will hurt even more because the one person he loves hurts. You could destroy his life like that."

"That sounds all very… theoretical."

Sebastian chuckled, "It's because you never had to go through it, see somebody you love being broken. But I can tell you: it's the real thing."

"You sound like you have been through that."

"I'm going through it right now." When Jim frowned, he added, "I owe my life to you, Jim. Without you, I would be dead now. I know it's not exactly love, but, as for me, the feelings I have for you are stronger than what I've ever felt for any woman. And to see you like this hurts me more than if they had done it to me. I would have happily volunteered to take your place in that bloody cell, and I would still do now, even though I know what has happened. If you want him to suffer just as much as you do, and possibly more, this is the route you have to take."

Jim watched Sebastian; his chief of staff and favourite sniper was not a man of many words. Sebastian preferred action over talking. This was the second time since Jim had come back that Sebastian had uttered so many words. And he seemed genuine. And he was right, Jim noticed. He had been working with Sebastian now for about five years. During this time a friendship had been forged, a relationship that was far more than a simple employer-employee relation. Jim trusted Sebastian with his life, and Seb had proved more than once that he was worth it. And although Jim had tried to fight any feelings, he knew that, should anything ever happen to Sebastian, he would be devastated. Then he thought of Sebastian's words. Jim had never loved anyone. He hadn't been capable, after having been disappointed so many times when he was a child. But he had a very clear idea of what love meant, and, if he continued thinking about it, he would probably see that Sebastian was right. He looked into Sebastian's eyes. Sebastian had come closest to what Jim considered as love. And knowing Seb was hurt because Jim was hurt… He shook his head. _No. I can't think about that. _And what if it had indeed been Sebastian instead of him? _Can't think about that, either. He's right. This is the route I would have to take to feel better. _

So he said, "We'll let him go. Go in there, knock him out, and bring him home."

That was the last thing Sebastian had expected, "What?"

"You heard me."

"Sure I did, but, why?"

Jim had already turned on his heel, but he stopped in his tracks, "Because you are right. I could destroy him like that. But he's not the one I want destroyed. He's not worth it. He will always live with the knowledge that I could have killed him, that I could have tortured him, but that I haven't done it. I guess that's good enough, seeing how he thinks I am scum. Give him something to remember me by, though." He walked away, murmuring, "To think they could have done this to you, Bastian... I'll be outside."

Sebastian watched him as he opened the door and walked up the stairs. He had heard the underlying meaning of Jim's last sentence. Jim had understood it. Of course, with a brain like his, why wouldn't he? But Sebastian also understood. Understood that Jim cared for Sebastian more than he showed. And that beneath the surface Jim was very well capable of feeling hurt. That he hadn't tortured Matthew because he himself found it hard to deal with the pain his own suffering caused for his most loyal servant… his friend. And that, as hard as it was to believe for some people, James Moriarty had in fact a heart. And it was this little feature of him that made James Moriarty the greatest man alive. At least to Sebastian Moran.

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><p><strong>Surprise! Well, after this chapter, there's only the epilogue left. I have an idea for a new fic, though I'm not sure whether you guys are even interested in it, cos, there'll be an OC. Lemme know. Don't worry, there'll be some Jim whump as well. ;)<strong>


	15. I heard this life was overrated

**Wow, guys, I really don't know what to say. I was really hesitant about not killing Matthew, cos you/we all wanted revenge, and I never thought you would like it so much that I don't kill him. You are amazing. So, now, without further ado, the epilogue.**

**Disclaimer: see chapter one, plus, title from this chapter is from _Here without you_ by 3 Doors Down. No profit made**

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><p><strong>Epilogue: I heard this life was overrated...<strong>

It was later that night when Sebastian opened the door. He had done what Jim wanted, had delivered Matthew, minus his finger, home, and had then gone to Jim's flat in Chelsea. Jim had texted him he would be there. When Sebastian entered, Jim was sitting on the couch, a glass of whiskey in one hand, a cigar in the other. He was only wearing boxers.

Sebastian noticed the change, "Feeling better?"

Jim nodded, "A bit, at least. Did he say anything? What did you give him as out good-bye present?"

"Cut his hamstring. He didn't say much, apart from the screaming. But I could see he didn't like it, you know, that you let him go. Can you imagine that, he would rather have been tortured than being released by you? You have that effect on people."

Jim chuckled, "Yeah, I know. Oh well, let him live with that. I have better things to do, now, that revenge is done." He took a sip of the whiskey. "You think John Watson will feel the same? About Sherlock gone?"

Sebastian poured himself a glass of whiskey, "Honestly? I think even more. I still think killing _him_ would be a better choice."

"Oh, Sebastian, this is not about the killing. If it was, they would have died at the pool."

"Okay, it's about proving your intellect. To somebody equal to you."

"Well, as close as it gets, really." Jim took a drag of the cigar. "Do you really think Sherlock cares that much? That it would hurt him more if I kill his little pet?"

Sebastian shrugged, "I don't know. He's your equal. You tell me."

Jim focused on the liquid in his glass, "Yeah. I think he does." He paused for a while before he said, "I will destroy Sherlock face-to-face, though. No tricks. It's much more fun if I win without having to resort to ugly methods. I'll keep it in mind, though."

Sebastian took a sip from his whiskey, "Have you ever thought of what would happen if you lose?"

"Of course. Don't worry, you'll be fine. You won't ever have to worry about money again."

"It's not the money, Jim, you know that."

"I know, yes, it's me." Jim got up and walked over to the window. "You know, Sebastian, two months ago I would have said that I will survive this, and I will continue doing what I do, because it's so much fun. Helping all those ordinary people with their ordinary problems." He leaned against the wall and looked out of the window. "Right now, I don't care much anymore. If I die, so be it. As long as I take him down with me. When he's gone, nothing will be left. No challenges."

Sebastian let his eyes wander over Jim's back. The wounds from the whipping had healed, but the scars would remain. "What about Mycroft Holmes? I know I would try and kill him if I were you?"

"No challenge. He's so lazy he wouldn't even run away." He shook his head, "No, Bastian, I don't plan on dying. But really, to me it doesn't make a difference anymore."

"Not to you, no." Sebastian murmured.

Jim chuckled, "You're so sweet."

"Do you think if… _that _hadn't happened, it would be different?"

"Dunno. Sure, living would be much more fun if I didn't feel like this. But you know…" He shrugged, "…it's not like I ever felt alive. Before Sherlock came, I mean. It's going to be dull without him."

"Then don't destroy him."

"Oh please, of course I will destroy him. What happens after that… I don't know. I don't care. I'm insane."

"You are, indeed." Sebastian grinned. Then he said, "Could you do me favour?"

"Sure, I owe you like a thousand by now."

"Okay… just… try not to die, okay?"

Jim smiled, "I will try."

"Good. Because, really, I would miss you."

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><p><strong>Oh, Sebbie :( <strong>

**This is the end. I wanna thank each and everyone of you for all of your encouragement, your love, your reviews, your adding my story to your list. It really means a lot to me. Also thank you to my silent readers for reading. Those of you who like the whole Seb/Jim thing, I also have two One Shots up, so if you want to read a bit more of my stuff. I have the prologue for the next fic written, and I think I might upload it pretty soon, so...**

**Love and respect, fergie  
><strong>


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